(Please excuse the format and lack of spacing here. The editor did not seem to want to work as I transferred it from Word to Gather)
My New Year's Resolution is to show my anger, and my hurt. That may sound like a negative resolution to some people, but to a woman who has spent the majority of her life keeping all of her negative feelings bottled up inside, it is anything but.
I grew up in a traditional Southern dysfunctional home where we pretended everything was "just fine" when in reality, it was anything but. There was nothing fine about living in an alcoholic, abusive home. But to the world around us, we presented ourselves as a nice, normal family. Daddy worked. Mama was a homemaker for most of her years. We always had nice clothes. I made good grades at school.
Sometimes Mama and Daddy would argue with one another so loud. It scared me so much, and if I said anything they would tell me to be quiet and not tell anyone. I would go and fall across my bed and dig my fingers deep into my ears to drown out the sounds of the yelling, and that is how I would fall asleep.
When Daddy would drive down the highway drunk, veering from side to side, I would start crying and say, "Daddy, please don't wreck us." He would tell me to sit back and shut up, while Mama sat next to him trying to explain to me that he was not going to wreck because he did not want to kill himself.
When Daddy would call me "stupid" or an "idiot" because I had a difficult time grasping Math, huge tears would well up in my eyes, and he would dare me to cry. I would be so scared, and angry as well. But I couldn't show it. I was afraid of what he would do.
I used to have to make excuses to my friends as to why they could not come over to my house. I had to tell them someone was sick, when what I really wanted to tell them was that someone was drunk and passed out. But I knew better than to say anything that would cause our family to be looked at in a bad way.
When I was eleven and the sexual abuse started, I spent most of my days living in fear and anger so intense I had nowhere for it to go. I dreamed of doing horrible things to my father. It was the only place I knew to put my rage. I eventually turned my rage inward, eaten up with shame for something I would later discover was not my fault. And this was when I started writing as a means of expression.
Holding my feelings in has become the norm for me. I turn all of my feelings inward, and I watch myself self-destruct before my very eyes. I tend to stuff my feelings down in the form of food or shopping or whatever my drug of the moment may be. I stuff the pain, and let my feelings become numb from whatever I choose to stuff the pain with.
Most people think I am so nice, easy going, and content. The reason for this is because that is the ME I show to the world. I don't argue. I don't confront issues. I don't take up for myself. I suppose "doormat" would be a good description. One time I got robbed in a parking lot by a very polite robber. I gave him my money,apologized to him for not having more, and then told him to "be careful". Talk about your Southern hospitality...
This year is the year. I have already taken baby steps in the direction I need and want to go. I have told a couple of people within the past week that I was angry and hurt over something. And guess what? They did not go out and kill themselves. The sky didn't fall. Everything is fine now. And best of all, I felt no need to stuff my feelings down in an unhealthy way.
I have learned that my feelings are just as important as everyone else's feelings. My pain is real. My anger is real. They are both a part of being human. They are both a part of this beautiful life that we are meant to embrace to the fullest, and I am going to do just that... by expressing my pain and anger both verbally, as well as with the written word. After all, I could never give up writing, for it will always be my favorite way of expressing myself.
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Comments: 12
It's never the childs fault. But they seem to blame themselves. I'm like you. I was from a family of seven children. From the age of 11 both my parents drank. There's
a lot of story's there. not the sexual abuse. But a lot of mental . But I think we all turned out fine. Some things blocked out. some things best to remember. You
let people know whats on your mind. Give your opinion ,I 'm so happy for you.
again . great story.
I always told my kids they could disagree with me, as long as they did it respectfully and understood that I was the adult and my decision would be the final one.
Kids need to know they can have opposing views without being made to feel bad about it.
I'm sorry you had the experiences that you did, but you GO this year! (Just not overboard!! LO!) Best of luck, and Happy New Year!
But while I was alone (well, as alone as one can be with 3 teenagers), I got strong. I learned to look out for myself, and my kids. And more importantly, I learned that I could take care of myself. I made mistakes, but so what?
As you know, I am now married to a totally different kind of man, and I am able to be more of the real me. Of course we never lose that fear that was instilled in our early years, and sometimes I backslide.
I admire you so much for how you have grown here on Gather, and I know a year from now you will be stronger, too.
Writing is an excellent way to express oneself. It is also a good safety valve for many.
I am so happy to hear you are now progressing and going through a healing process at last.
Thank you for being brave and sharing this.
Good-Luck!!! Cheryl