I was crying a lot, and my counselor encouraged me to write a letter to my husband to explain why I was crying so much and also to let him know what responses were helpful. In the letter I shared with him the reasons for my tears.
My tears represented years and years trying to appear happy and not crying at all in order to maintain that happiness. All this time, I thought God had singled me out, didn’t love me, allowed my pain and had not protected me.
My perception of love was very unhealthy. My innocent was lost, stolen and gone. I was beginning to understand that it wasn’t my fault, but even in releasing that guilt I was even more aware of how evil and manipulative it all was and that was heart-breaking. I didn’t have a normal, happy, healthy childhood and whatever good existed has now been minimized whereas before I focused on the good to avoid thinking about the awful.
I had to escape just to cope. I didn’t realize how often I dissociated and checked out. I was also aware of the level of isolation, grooming, and silencing that I experienced and it made me feel worthless and unloved. Was selfish pleasure really valued higher than me?
I was afraid of everything. It wasn’t always logical or rational but it was very real for me. I was terrified of policemen, fire, and tragedy. It always felt like the rug was about to be pulled from under me. I was constantly afraid of something.
I was alone. I had many friends and I knew a lot of people, but my five closest friends in my life barely knew me. I hardly knew me.
I lived expecting to be disappointed. I expected to be harmed, hurt, misled, lied to, abandoned, forgotten, ignored and hated. My mind would play the tape before it happened so that when and if it happened it hurt less because I already saw it coming.
Mostly, I felt completely unloved. How can you be loved and abused at the same time?
Crying helped. Those tears were just a sweet release most of the time. Sometimes I could put words to it, and other times I couldn’t. Crying was not easy, but it was long overdue.
This is post #10 in the Baby Steps series. To start at the beginning, click here.