It is difficult to consider my younger self. When I think of the precocious, fierce, lonely, discounted, sensitive, scared, smart, savvy, passionate, confused girl that I once was, it’s difficult not to see her as a girl version of the strong woman I have become.
She was nearly snuffed out. As a child, as any child, I didn’t see myself as a child. I didn’t have the luxury. I fancied myself a warrior; a valiant warrior who knew it all but couldn’t say anything. It was the only coping mechanism I had in my vastly under-developed arsenal.
To answer a question that my dear, insightful, beautiful friend, Nicole, lovingly asked me several weeks ago: THIS is why parenting has been so difficult, so triggering. The experience of raising my own children has rescued my beautifully brave chid-self.
So why not – to use the words of a fellow warrior/survivor “speak the truth as loudly as I had to speak the lie” (Wade Robson, Leaving Neverland)??!!??
Because in order to speak my truth, I’ve had to sift it from the lies I had been marinating in, I’ve had to grieve a childhood that I convinced myself, and the important people in my life was reality. It WAS real. It was a living nightmare 😳
*carpe diem*
Collecting Pieces of Me 