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few humans are fortunate enough to have enjoyed a childhood that they are not recovering from. I have been blessed and never struggled to survive. but there are other wounds I contend with in my adult life and there are sharp memories that bring me pain when I search my past for signs. we are all children, still. reaching for some ideal of a meaningful life that means denying our history. but I cannot.
childhood trauma does not have to leave physical scars, traced back to one's birth experience and the helplessness of early life. did you enter this physical world in pain, surrounded by love, or fear? were you forced out of the womb before your time, or allowed to choose?
some never know the trauma that might have been inflicted in these valuable first moments of mortal life. but the trauma is still felt under the skin in moments of weakness and solitude, like the tip of a thorn buried deep in a gardener's hand. it hurts. it gives you no peace. but you cannot see it, let alone pull it out. and it was not anyone's fault. in moments of weakness, you may hear the cries of your early days, still echoing unheard. the voices of your parents making demands, and dictating the direction of your spirit. laughter, or shouting. freedom in the openness of nature, or restriction and punishment. you may feel the burn of angry gazes. constant dread of disappointment.
today, I am twenty-four and the goddess of my little world, of all beautiful things. yesterday, I was six, standing by the wall in misery, waiting. waiting. and tomorrow, I could be both versions of myself all at once. fear is programmed into my being. every action must have a dark consequence that I should be afraid to greet. I am wrong, I am not enough. I should try harder. you don't deserve to rest. failure is not an option. happiness is given to you when you are proven worthy. you may not create it for yourself, because you'll never know how.
I am writing, alone in my own home. but someone is yelling. I pull the covers over my pounding head and pray for the noise to stop. I wish to be held and comforted, to hide away in the womb I think I fled too soon. I don't know how to be brave today, for I was never allowed as a child to try. I don't know how to challenge myself on my own terms and chase dreams I had no idea were sleeping within me, better off asleep than awake and beaten down.
I blame no one for my wounds. my parents are still children, too, learning to cope with their own pain and the mistakes made in youth that led to less than content lives. they are innocent, as I was, and as I still am. rocking back and forth in the darkness, I cry for the child in me who feels unworthy of life and has little sense of belonging or self-love. I want to heal her, so that I may heal others. giving her a hug, I tell her she is right, she is enough. she tries hard enough. she deserves to rest. learning from failure is an option. happiness will find you and you are worthy. you can create it for yourself because you know how.
love your inner child. heal him or her. give them love & forgiveness. give the same love & forgiveness to your family. recognize our unity in existence as tiny mortal fragments of God's pure light. allow yourself to follow impulse and instinct, and offer no judgement when you fall. you are eternally learning, and everyday, you are new. you are precious and perfect, created by this Earth simply to be as you are, and to grow free.
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