Letting go

Dad: “Carol, just let it go”


Dad: “well…” *shrugs* “sucks to be you I guess.

This scenario played out in my childhood over and over and over again. I hated it when he would say, whine, complain, or ridicule me with that command. 

“Just let it go!”

No one taught me how, and I was just a child… If you can’t teach me then how am I supposed to have this skill set?

In the end it starts to click – the reason I no longer recall every little detail of abuse that I clung too only 10 years ago is because I no longer cling to a narritive of blame. Daily, blaming was my practice, and daily, I clung to every wrong they ever handed me to protect myself. Daily I clung to the harsh words of my father and hated everything my mother said. I no longer live blaming them daily because it does me no good… I’m away from them, and I learned in my psych degree that in one way or another we’re all just victims of victims. I can’t blame my parents forever for trying, and so through accepting, I let go. 

“You don’t dig through yesterday’s trash to create today’s food, so why would you dig into the pasts mental garbage to create tomorrow’s experiences? If a thought or belief doesn’t serve you, let it go” – L. Hay

I feel like I’m back at the crossroads. How do I let go? This isn’t about my parents, this is about who I am. I let go through acceptance, but somewhere between not being okay with who I am and not knowing who I am anymore, how do I let go?

I guess the problem I encounter with positive affirmation one-liners is that in order for them to be affective and taken to heart, you have to personalize them…. This is a lot harder to do because of resistance, procrastination, and exhaustion, all of which falls on me. There’s also an element of fear… How much can I “accept” or “take on” when it always comes with shame and self-blame. The closer it hits to my core the more it hurts; the more it distorts who I believe I am the more I want to kill myself… And in that I suppose is a very valuable message. The more my peers in elementary and middle school distorted the image of me, the more I hated them – likewise the more I was deamonized by my family, the more the intensity of hate and defeat grew. I wasn’t seen for who I really was, and now I can barely see myself at all. I was never validated for the positive in me in my upbringing unless it was used to shame my brother for not being more like me, and vice versa. 

I remember Jamie and I after being punished sitting in little jims room, which had now become “our room” and we were in there for the night. Our punishment? We were not only not allowed to come out, but no dinner as well. Thankfully in my backpack were some old sandwiches I haven’t eaten that were packed for lunch – less than 5 days old. I gave Jamie one and I ate the other. It was in those moments I was the mother taking on the nurturing role. In nurturing my brothers wounds for needing a loving parent, I felt my own healing in attempting to be a loving parent. I was about 10 at the time, and Jamie was 8.

This sucks…


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