Changing patterns, generations long


When you’ve grown up knowing abusive love, the grief that comes in adulthood – in the healing – is huge. The anger too. The rage that you never had what every child should have, and deserves to have – unconditional love. The rage that you have to learn it now, yourself. The utter inconvenience of being someone of 26 having to now learn what I wish I had known from an early age…from the day I was freakin’ conceived.

But the beauty in this, is that I am and I can. I could have spent a fuck load more years not, and swimming in a fuck load more pain. The beauty is that I am in the position to dedicate this time to myself. The beauty is in the fact that I had my crumble that brought me here. That I broke down and broke through. That I carried this weight for so many years but then found myself in the position to speak of it…to tell the tales. And I am still in this position. For once, and finally, my voice is being, and has been, heard.

I will never completely forgive this fact that I never had true love – I just don’t know how you can? I will never allow myself to resist the anger that rages and rises, and is fully here when I think of this subject. When this topic brews…this topic of love. It is something that will never go unforgotten – the feelings and beliefs I’ve carried all these years, from a model that was just as fucked and immature, and uneducated in the love world, as I was. In that sense, we were in it together. We were both as uninformed as to what unconditional love was, as each other.

That’s pretty fucking profound. That shows me I am doing what others have told me I am doing – I am healing generations of hurt, of pain, of grief. I am facing this shit now, so that my life will be held and happier. I am in this shit now so that I will be healthier and happier, and held. And so will my children. I am teaching myself what my mother was never taught. I am teaching myself what I deserve to know, and what – from now on – I will always know. This kind of stuff can’t be forgotten. This is love.

I am teaching myself what I never got to know. And I am learning it from those that are willing to give it to me, model it to me, and share it with me. And most importantly, share this journey with me. I am changing intergenerational patterns, and that is pretty fucking beautiful. I want to say I never thought it would be me, but that would be lying. I think somewhere inside me, I’ve always known I was different. I always have known I didn’t belong in a life abuse. I always, always, knew I never fitted in. And maybe this is why. I have always known that this life is for me: the one of love. I haven’t known how I would get here. I haven’t known whether it would last. And I have never really known whether it actually exists. And I have never known whether I deserve it.

But now I know I do.

And that’s pretty fucking beautiful too.



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