This is a picture of the year I turned 50, got serious about therapy for the neglect, abandonment and childhood sexual abuse/rape at 5 years old. The year I decided to quit smoking, lost 60 lbs, and went back to school.
I was miserable and sick and tired of being sick and tired. I had no direction and really did not know who I was.
This was before the breast reduction that decreased my pain by at least 50% and before I realized I did not need anyone to validate me.
“Bring me to my knees” was written because my mother did not call me on my birthday. I will not try nor do I feel the need to justify my feelings about this but I have gained a lot of insight and I want to share. If you have followed the blog you already know my history of neglect and childhood sexual trauma.
As a child living with my grand mother every birthday the only thing I really wanted was acknowledgement by my mother. A phone call would have sufficed or a card would have been even better, but no calls or cards ever came.
I don’t have the words to explain how unimportant I felt. It did not matter what party I had or gifts I had received, no call from her said I did not matter to any body especially my mother. In therapy I learned to ask for what I wanted so I explained to my mother in my mid thirties how her behavior made me feel. She started from then on at least calling me on my birthday.
This year that I turned Fifty was a big deal for me because I have survived and thrived. There was a lot of discussion about what I was going to do for the big 50 born day and for many reasons I just wanted to be away from home. The main reason being I did not want to spend any energy pretending every thing is okay with our family.
I was concerned that maybe something was seriously wrong with her because I had come to expect the call. When I called to ask about her well-being she told me she did not forget. She just did not call.
I hung up the phone and started to cry. I was the little bare footed five-year old all alone in a dark roach infested apartment by herself with no food crying for her mother. PTSD is horrific.
This time though I was different. I loved my self enough to validate my own feelings. It is okay to cry. It is okay to feel bad about this I told myself, but it is not okay to wallow in it. So I decided to talk about how I felt honestly with a couple of friends that I knew would just listen so I could process the feelings.
In the past I would have went straight into a deep depression feeling sorry for myself. I used to be the queen of pity parties but I have grown. I know not to take her behavior personally it is not now, nor has it ever been about me. But that does not change the fact that it hurts.
I love my mother. I want to facilitate her healing but she lacks the courage to face her demons. So, now I find myself on my knees praying for my mother instead of praying for my self. I pray for our healing.
I am continually striving to learn how to give more love.