I knew I’d get here someday. I was born with a streak of I’ll show you and a dose of eternal optimism. Both have served me well. But for the longest time I didn’t know why all that happened had to happen. But then I did. I chose it. To become who I am. I wouldn’t be this version of myself without the storm that came before. I thank the gods this finally clicked, prior, victimhood had been a familiar place. It still attempts to court me, but I know its lies.
My father was a preacher with demons in his heart, I was his scapegoat. The physical and psychological abuse layered upon me somehow allowed our family to function, in sorts. Hearing his words from the pulpit in sharp contrast to the reality I bore. A mind fuck, his voice the voice of god. And my mother. Protecting him, and as a result herself, over me, a woman of her era. A heart fuck. Aren’t mothers supposed to be the source of safe love?
But finally, the hour I had held onto as a life jacket arrived, and I ran. Into the arms of a man who didn’t know how to hold me any better. And another. Then another.
Until I finally ran towards myself, listening to what remained. Everything thing else had failed, the running towards something, anything outside myself, believing there might lie a salvation, removal of the pain. But instead, finally I faced my own reflection, my part, my work. And so I began.
rest heal grow 