I was the youngest of three children. The story goes that when my mom smelled baby powder it meant she wanted to have another baby. And that’s all it took. Mommy & Daddy wanted me.
The next story is when I, the new baby GIRL, was brought home from the hospital and my sister found out she had to share her bedroom she said “send her back”.
I think my brother rehearsed his male-ness on me, or what he thought was power. I became the go-fetch kid. I was only worthy if I was doing something he needed. Otherwise I was in the way.
My stories seem endless in my memory. I always sensed I was loved. I also always sensed that that was obligation. I was never given an avenue to talk about that or to ask questions. When I did good, I was loved. When I didn’t, I was unworthy. All on me….perceptions and assumptions. Yet those things hurt.
My perceptions and assumptions caused me pain and instilled thoughts of who I was and what was my worth. My perceptions and assumptions were chock full of limiting beliefs. My perceptions and assumptions caused me resentment.
How did I move forward with life? I found replacements. When I thought my parents were done being parents and I was only 12ish, I began to lie to get to do things I wanted. They didn’t care anyway. When I thought my parents were done being parents and I was about 16, I found a (older) young man to sweep me off my feet. Actually, I latched on and allowed all the good, bad, and ugly he had to dish out. Because he loved me for me. Impossible of course because I wasn’t old enough to know who I was or what I wanted so he was led down a very slippery slope. I had children because I wanted to raise a family and do things differently than my parents did and raise children who knew interaction, exchange of ideas, culture, support and encouragement were what their mom would always bring to the table. And I hid. I hid behind all those replacements. I morphed from go fetch kid, to go fetch woman, and I knew one thing for sure. I had not become who I am, yet.
And then I stopped. One moment at a time it happened. The pit in the bottom of my stomach started tearing. I began to define that there was a hole inside that wasn’t healing. I spooled from victim to persecutor to rescuer and back again. By the time I was in my 30’s I was exhausted. By the time I reached 50 I was sick. Where does the time go?
Now, I’m writing memoirs. I help other women still in their own web. I’m defining each section. I am me. I can no longer be a morphed version of what I think the world wants me to be. I have no war wounds. No terribly abusive stories to tell. I am a woman who has grown up and become me. There have been many bandaids. Therapy, women’s support groups, coaching. I needed help. Everyone does and it has become a source of pride that now I help women become who they are as a life coach myself.
I was not broken and neither are you. Sometimes it feels that way and sometimes there are pieces to be thrown away and pieces yet to be realized. I’m here to help pick up the pieces, share my A.L.I.V.E. and Well program with you, and watch you enter your new life at mid life. Reach out, become the real you. You have my support.