My Story - It’s Never Too Late to Share
At a very young age, I was rejected, emotionally, by my parents because they didn’t understand emotions – mine or their own – and because my needs for sensitivity and openness triggered fears in them they weren’t ready to face. In their own fears, they pulled away when I needed to be shown the way, and since then, I’ve lived with this trauma. Because I wasn’t seen or acknowledged or openly given affection by them, I became afraid to be seen for all of the things that I now cherish – honesty, open-mindedness, authentic love, and most importantly, the right and freedom to be emotionally alive.
As I grew older, my fear of being seen kept me from being real. I hid behind what Glennon Doyle Melton called the representative. I put on a face in school and with my friends and later on in life, at work and within my passion and hobbies. I became someone who was fun-loving and carefree and willing to do everything for the greater good (but that really meant others), but inside and alone, I was still the little girl who wasn’t seen. And because of my lack of family affection, I created my own definitions of what love was: if it wasn’t returned, it was a rejection. And rejection meant that something was wrong with me, that I wasn’t enough. And no matter how much I justified rejection as a teenager and later as an adult, that childhood trauma grew. It grows every time I give it power to.
In relationships, I became the version of my Mom, in the way I had wished she would have been to me. I gave and provided and supported, and I threw affection around like it was confetti. But I was damned if anyone would see me. That part of me – the part that cried and was emotional and shy and vulnerable to bare bone – that part was locked tight. And so, relationship after relationship fizzed out, because I went into it with my representative at the forefront, ready to speak out only on behalf of the pieces I was willing to show. I was attracted to men who were emotionally unavailable, like my parents were, and I became the woman in those men’s lives who was there to fix them, to show them the way to love, like I had wanted to be shown. And I became the martyr, over and over again, sacrificing my own self love for the greater good (but that really meant others, again…). And because I so badly ran from rejection, I surrounded myself with friends who were strong and resilient – friends who reminded me subconsciously of my Mom, who was like a rock in the face of anything that may crumple the heart. And because I wanted to also so badly belong and fit in, I became the friend who drove and paid and went along with every drink and drug and choice that was made on behalf of her, because what do you do when you oppose something but have no courage to speak out? You follow. You follow trends and nights blacking out and using guys for things, and being things to guys. You lose that feeling that you’re worth something, and one day, you wake up at 29 and you realize that something’s gotta give.
My life story could go on. I could share my traumas for an eternity, but this is where I can circle back to why I wrote this. We have two choices in life: we can rise above or we can stay below.
I’ve sat at the bottom of my depression with my traumas at my feet for a very long time, waiting for a moment where I can learn something from the choices I’ve made. The only real choice I’ve made, though, has been to keep sitting with what’s hurt me. When I started yoga and my training to become a teacher, I saw my traumas for the first time, and I so badly wanted to end them, to erase them right then and there. I believed that if I could push them away, my real life would begin, you know? I would be happier and more joyful and more eager to put myself out there, and really live! But I kept cycling back to rejection and lack of love and that crippling fear of being seen for who I really am. That fear has kept me from so much in my life. It has broken me in ways that have fueled my anger tenfold, only because I knew I was the one giving that fear more power than it needed. I was the one who was standing in my own way, who chose to sit down instead of rise above.
This is where I’m gonna get a little preachy. If you’re out there somewhere like me, waiting to heal your traumas before your life can start, please cut that crap out. You’re going to wake up one day at whatever age you are, and you’re going to wish you had more time to do the things you love and to love the people that you have. Please use that time.
Our traumas are never going to leave. We can’t wipe them out, because the lesson from them lies not at the bottom of the pain that they’ve caused. The lessons are in the moments that make us smile. I’m sure of it! They’re in the moments where we lock eyes with our forever after as we say our “I Do’s;” they’re in the divine seconds of seeing our child come into this world; they’re in simple moments where life just seems so absolutely perfect; and they’re in absolutely terrifying moments like writing this post and showing it to the whole wide world. Because our traumas force us to get up and chose to rise above, even when we’re scared, even when we’re not seen, even when our legs shake. They remind us that every day and choice that is bestowed upon us is another chance to do it over again, to be better, and to tell our story.
I wrote this a while ago, but it has never rang truer than today. September is National Suicide Awareness Month. If you’re having problems, please know that you are strong. You are worthy. And you are not alone. More importantly, you are not a burden. To anyone. Seek help. It’s here.