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Groundhog Day



Here we are with what is starting to feel like the movie Groundhog Day. A repeat of the same old nonsense. Another night of wanting an emotional release from the thoughts that are swirling. Another night that I find little relief. 

Images and negative thinking that seems as normal as breathing today. Tackling back and forth with myself on who is at fault and what I can do better. Fighting the feelings of whether I remember it all correctly. Was it as some would say normal childhood exploration? Do I recall it correctly or did I fill in a gap with a possibility and hung on to it like it was the gospel truth? My first memory is a very young child. Barely school age. Could I really recall something that long ago and understand what it was?

Is that why I find it so difficult to talk about? Calling it by its name seems so...finite. How can I do that when I am still trying to reconcile that it happened? But there is no reason for me to not believe what I remember. No one planted the thoughts because I had never been around anyone at that time who talked openly about those things. I was older when it was discussed. I felt them as being wrong before someone told me it was wrong. What they didn't say is that it could be anyone, even your closest family. They didn't say that the cousin or 'grandfather' could be capable under the guise of 'love'. 

It took me a long time to realize that wasn't the life that every girl goes through but by then, it was too late. I had normalized the experience and the keeping of the secret. I had spent years hiding the truth from everyone including myself. By the time I heard it was ok to tell, I was too afraid of what not keeping the secret would do to my family and myself. I can recall the times that I was forced into therapy and when I chose therapy that the pain was the same. My throat felt like it was closing. My voice retreated. The closest I could come to expressing the pain is to allow the tears to fall and make myself as small and invisible as possible. This is how it was on week one and week 31. Any discussion  that moved to this trauma ended the same. It's funny that I have had different types of traumas in my life but this is the one that always brings shame. It's a shame that feels unforgivable. Like being branded with a scarlet letter. 

Shame. Hurt. Pain. Sadness. Secrets. Filthy. Blame. Hopeless. Helpless. Worth less. Broken. Impure. Ugly. Scarred. Afraid. Invisible. Lifeless. Unloved. Dumb. Damaged. Angry. Lost.

So here I am years later trying to tell the child I was that what you recall is a fact not fiction. Telling her that it's ok to speak that truth and call it by its name. Telling her that real family will not abandon her. They will show support and love. They will respect the process it now takes to heal from those experiences and allow that child to flourish into a confident and strong woman. Instead she cowers in the corner. She feels alone. She feels forgotten. She feels unworthy. She feels unloved. She is sad because she cant see a future without these feelings and a past that haunts her. She prays that one day she doesn't lose control and end up making matters worse. All she wants is to make sure that the young girls she influence know they can come to her if they cant go to anyone else. There is no judgement. Just unconditional love, support and the knowledge they are never alone. That there is no right or wrong way to heal. 

So here is another night of crying unseen tears. Of wrapping my arms around myself wishing they were the arms of someone who loves me without conditions and assuring me that I am safe and heard and fully supported. Here's to another night of wishing I had something to take me to another plane of existence. One where the world and people in it are all good. A world that is safe. Here's to another night where I will fight the urge to hide in my own world knowing I will only mildly succeed. Here is to another faild Groundhog Day.


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