Does happily ever exist?

Do you promise when you grow up, you will do things differently? Yes, do you? My sister asked. Yes, I do. Somehow, we will be the start of something new. My sisters and I grew up in an abusive home, where it was drilled into you that you were no good and never would amount to anything. Punishments were cruel and severe. Kneeling on a register vent for hours, standing in a corner unable to move for days, locked in bedroom, for days and days. Sitting in the laundry room with my sister making that promise to one another, did we know how hard that journey was going to be.

Growing up, I would fantasize about the day that I would find my prince charming, he would save me, and we will live happily ever after in our little white house with a picket fence. Laughter and happiness sound out in every moment of our existence. Little did I know lurking in the back of my mind was the darkness that drew me to a world of failed relationships and disappointments. Over and over again, I would find myself caught up, giving 150% of me, only to meet with abuse and failure. I am a world changer, and I can love people to change, but a piece of me died with every failed relationship.

I realized ten years ago that there was nothing left for me to give, even if I would not know how to love or be loved. Everything I grew up thinking it was, it was not, and there was no one to model what was right. I fought to fill empty spaces with anything that would ease the pain, fill the void, or whisk me off to something new and make me forget where I came from, only to find myself in a darker place.

Ten years ago, I stopped trying to fill the emptiness and pain by focusing on raising my children. I believed closing that part of my life; I would protect all of us. Today as my children are older, they will carry wounds of their own. In some ways, it did protect them, but in others, it deepened them. I sit here today lonely and broken. These chains that have shackled me are heavy, and I am tired. Tell me, does happily ever after exist?

 

Prove It

I grew up in a family where children were not to be heard and could not do anything right. Over and over again I would never amount to anything. Over and over these words echoed in my head as I journeyed through life. Prove it became the melody in my head as I pushed myself to the brink of exhaustion in everything I did, because in my mind I had something to prove to my parents that I am someone and that I am going to make it. I ended up in college and became a nurse, as a single mom built a house to raise my family in, now back in college and working hard to be on the Dean’s list and the other day I had a breakdown moment and realized, the very same people I feel I have to prove something to are no longer living. Then I realized the people around me do not care whether I am on the Dean’s list, or successful, or….. what am I doing living to prove I am someone? I realized for the past 45 years I have lived with those haunting words and I do not want to live like that anymore because in living to prove I am someone, I lost me. Learning to be free from that prison is a day by day journey. Somedays those words still echo in my mind, but I have learned to pause and remind myself to breathe, and embrace my new journey one step at a time. How many of you are in the same situation? Struggling to prove something to someone is life draining and engulfs you in a prison of misery. I want you to know today that the real you are more valuable than the person you have allowed yourself to become. Any day that you are ready to stop proving yourself to people and open the prison door and take that step is the day you will begin to experience the freedom of being you.

 

Through a mother’s eyes

It is so hard to watch your children navigate through life as a mother. It does not matter their age when their wings are broken through heartache, mistakes, and the journey called life, you just want to jump in and protect them or fix the problem, but you know you cannot do that because they will never learn the lessons or build their strength. The pain they go through, resounds within our hearts. When the wings of a bird are broken, they are fractured, and they need that care or support, but you cannot handle them frequently or else they will not heal. The same goes for our children, we must accept they will be broken, they will hurt, and they will need encouragement but the best thing we can do for them is allow them to heal and encourage them to fly again. As a mother, we must realize broken wings are meant to heal and when they fly again our pain turns to joy. We want to see our children fly again through a mother’s eyes because when they fly, we know they have the strength to survive.