For nearly ten years I made a concerted effort to choose my words carefully. To choose which thoughts and feelings I felt safe sharing. That was just too much time for me to be without a voice or with a voice that was hushed to soothe ego.
I know that in fighting this depression, I’m also processing the dissolution of my relationship and doubling down on my commitment to face this generational trauma head on and choose differently. I am very much aware that by fighting this fight I might be taking my already vulnerable and weary self through The Gauntlet and that may not be a good thing for ‘me’ but I refuse to allow my baby to move forward carrying this shit that’s been on my back for 25 years.
I need my voice back.
I recognize the cost of this commitment. The stress, the strained relationship, the anxiety, the constant thoughts of ‘what if’ and ‘should i have…?’. I see it all but if there is any chance that my baby doesn’t have to recover from his childhood, those sacrifices are worth it. He’ll be a decent person with emotional intelligence that allows him to be kind and good to people. Broken people break people, from fissures to tectonic shifts.
I have to relearn how to establish and enforce my boundaries.
My patience is short. The life that I’ve lived, the stress that I’m surrounded by and the magnitude of the task of breaking generation chains that are steeped in trauma? My patience is short. Don’t waste my time.
I have to remember that it is okay to assert your needs.
I’m only receiving energy coated in intention and action and goodness. Say what you mean, mean what you say and do what you say you will. Anything that’s not that is not anything that I want or need. Keep that energy.
“I wish I could do….”
“I wish I was……”
Wishes are for candles.
Either do something or don’t.
Otherwise, I ain’t got the five.