I am my mother's daughter; a mix of two worlds, two cultures, two races. I was the first granddaughter, the first black child in a historically German family. I am her mother's granddaughter, shoved off to the side and left to daydream soaking in Illinois heat. I took on the faces they desired- gentle, quiet, and submissive because mine was too loud, annoying, or simply too much. I copied from those I received love from so perhaps I could be just as loved. But every time I mimicked someone else, I felt the stabbing criticism, "Don't do that!"
Who was I? Who am I? Am I not just all of them?
I catch myself being heated with impatience like my mother when the AC doesn't kick in fast enough. Years of therapy and healthy communities have taught me to breathe, focus on what I can control, and to be ok with the tension knowing it won't last forever. I catch myself breaking down in tears whenever a friend slams the door because Mom had always assumed I had an attitude when I did. This caused her to scream at me until I did develop an attitude. I need to remember my friends didn't have a snarling, intoxicated mother barking back, "Stop your crying now or I'll give you something to cry about." Instead, I know I deserve and give myself the love I need in those tender moments.
A hug, a gentle whisper, a warm caress was something I rarely remember receiving. Sometimes this led to my love being unreadable; I tucked away my great affections because I was afraid to scare my partners away.
It's my turn to be my own parent; yet, with me leaving my "Heavenly Father" (i.e Christian cult) I'm wanting to live my "rebellious teenage years." In so many ways I'm still a child, but this body has aged and the aches aren't ceasing. It's time to be my own caretaker, I have to make the money to buy the medication to be mentally well to maintain this misery. The Mother of the family I lived with after I was kicked out of my home was right, I do have to learn to not lean on people.
I'm so many people at different ages, perhaps that's the reason I just drift off and stair into space.
Disassociating most likely occured when the domestic violence at home began when I was in first grade. I had to walk on eggshells around my Mother so much so that I couldn't always see how this led to laying down the red carpet for everyone else. Like the eager gratitude I longed to give Christ for saving me, I'd fall into love bombing (something certainly not helped from the evangelical youth group culture). My attachments were more than either of us (me, my crush, and everyone I told about my crush) could handle. A parasitic kind of love, disguised like a puppy.
I wanted someone to tell me who I was, tell me what to do, where to go, when and why.
The worst relationships tended to be ones that shined upon the naturalistic human in me and not the religious fascade. I'm still just a mammal learning to do life, love, and logic along with every one else. Blunt individuals similar to my Mother let me know when I hurt them because they knew talking things out could lead to a healthier relationship. The difference now was I actually had the other party willing to listen and not say " I get the final word not you." My hurts and hangups slithered through my obsessive relationships like a poison. "Am I good enough? Am I smart enough? Am I pretty enough?" These were internal inquiries I had to establish before understanding that being told "you hurt me" does not equal "you need to die."
In addition this multifaceted being that I am, I've also learned more about what it means to be on the spectrum, which I feel myself and some family members are. This corresponds to how we've miss read each other and shamed each other's stimming. My Mom's combition of (possible) BPD, OCD, and being on the spectrum is a triple threat for the need to control everything. As I've become more intune with my body, I've learned a couple of my stims are repeating audio (i.e songs) and shaking my legs- both of which severely annoyed Mom. After years of therapy and reading more about BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder) I've learned to relinquish that need for control and impress. The only person I can control and impress is myself. Despite being a mosaic of those around me, I'm the sole perpetrator. I need to take accountability to continue relationships; yet, fear loves to have me hide from responsibility and shame smiles when I become stuck in the same toxic patterns. There is no magic prayer that can guide my path, no Lord or monsters to appease. I have to do this for me; I have to continue on for me.
Self reflection reminds me that this too-loving myself and others, is a balance.
I don't have to do anything; I get to. It's not about winning, but the self-journey. The greatest gift to give oneself is confidence. I'm not in a race with anyone and timelines for healing are like looping rollercoasters.
I know how awful life can be, this is why I look upon all living things with such awe. All I have is here and now; how will I live it? With no regrets.
