This past week, I have focused a lot on my self-talk and how I viewed myself even as a child. I tried to explain away the reasons why I didn’t feel loved. I tried to believe that I WAS the reason that I didn’t get compassion. I believed that I was something that happened to my parents that they regretted and wished they hadn’t done.
I started going thru different scenarios of events and accidents that have happened to me throughout my life. I believed that I truly was the black sheep and that everyone wished I would disappear. At times, I tried to make myself invisible. I tried to bother my parents as little as possible. Even with my siblings, I tried to make as little waves as possible.
Living on a large property with lots of trees and places to hide, made it easier to survive. I spent a lot of time wandering thru those trees. Sometimes, I would take a book and read it from beginning to end just to pass the day going unnoticed.
As a teenager, the other siblings grew up and moved away. I was the only one left at home for about two years. My parents gave me a car, a phone, and a stereo. They let me come and go. I would lie frequently about where I was going, but it was ok, because no one ever questioned me. My brothers would say I was “spoiled” and that I thought I was special etc. The truth is, I would have rather been noticed in a negative way than not be noticed at all. Or feel like I was “in the way”.
When my parents found out about my sexual trauma, they said I was basically making their life miserable by all the family drama that went along with the announcement. My mom went thru an awful depression because of me.
Putting this all together, I concluded that I was a “bad” and “unwanted” child. I was more than sure that my birth was a mistake. I was sure that God played a cruel joke on my parents when he gave them me.
I was talking thru the memory of being severely burnt on both feet at 8 years old. I realized that I was so alone during that time. Yes, people were present, and yes, there was appropriate medical attention. But I felt like a burden. I felt like it was one more reason why my parents would be annoyed by me. Since my Mom was mentally and physically sick, she needed to have all the attention on her. And it was. Maybe they did the best they could with parenting since there were addictions and mental illness.
So, I’m talking to Mrs. A yesterday in therapy, and she says that I was a “normal” child as far as accidents happening and using “childish” judgement. I told her that I was sure that all my trauma was more than my parents wanted to deal with and I was basically a “bad” child.
This foundation of poor self-worth has followed me throughout my life. I typically pre-determine how someone feels about me before they even get a chance to say it. Even when people say that I’m talented, or nice or anything positive, I don’t believe them. I think they are just being “kind”.
I’m trying to feel “worthy” of love. I struggle daily to accept that there are people in my life that genuinely love and care for me. I also struggle with allowing someone to care for me when I’m sick or down. My need to be superwoman never goes away and is always in the back of my mind.
I need to start over with my belief system. I need to believe that I was born for a reason and that I have a purpose here on this planet.
The question is, how do you change 50 years of negative thinking and believe that you are special? How do you feel loved when the people who were supposed to love you the most failed you?
I forgive them. But I can’t forgive me. As I’m drawing the other night, I’m thinking to myself that if only I could exchange my heart and brain for new ones, I could actually get a fresh start.
Until next time – I am being MJ every day.