Responsibility

I sit here wrestling with so many thoughts, emotions, and memories.  You’d think I’d be excited, or peaceful, discovering my roots of why I do what I do, but I’m not.  I feel overwhelmed and nauseous. 

I have been experiencing deep heart wrenching grief.  I’m thankful for the few that understand, but I know most are ‘’over it’ and may even think I’m trying to get attention.  I’ve realized in the last few days that this isn’t about Chad, per say, but something far deeper.  The belief that was instilled within me at a very young age that I am not lovable.

I always thought the root was the day I had to get a blood test to prove my dad was my biological father.  It was a very traumatic moment that I remember in vivid detail.  I remembering being tied down.  I remember the screams of terror.  I remember my mom Leaving the room as my life blood left my body because that selfish bitch ‘’couldn’t handle’ it.  I remember the scars and message that sent me.  I always stopped there.  I never looked into my earlier years.

Until this weekend.

I was molested when I was 5 years old.  It continued until I was 10 by various babysitters and neighbor kids.  I know this and I talk about it with no problems.  It’s totally untouchable to my emotions. 

I can tell you that my dad left when I was 10 months old.  He left because there was no work, he was an alcoholic, and beat my mom.

I can tell you that my mom was an alcoholic and drug addict until I was 3.  I can tell you that I’m proud she cleaned herself up, but that she still very much had the personality and abusive techniques of an alcoholic and drug addict even after she was clean.

I can tell you that the one thing my mom did for me was stand up to one of my sexual abusers.  I told her when I was about 8.  I remember that sticking out to me because it was the first time someone stood up for me.

I know all that like text book… but here’s what I didn’t know.

1.  I am the mother I am today because OF my mom; not just despite of her.  There were a few times people wanted to adopt me or take me away from her abuse, but she would never let me go.  Her own mother abandoned her as a young teen.  She swore I would never know what that felt like.  I remember, at the time, wishing she’d change her mind, but now I see that truth was deeply ingrained in me instead.  It's the foundation that I’ve clung to.  To fight for my kids no matter what. 
2.   Sexual abuse.  I never felt wanted, or noticed, until my sexual abuse started at age 5.  It was traumatizing, yes, but I was noticed.  I was seen.  This is one of the main reasons I associate sex to love.  Sex to being noticed and wanted.  It’s all I’ve known.  My grandma loved me, but my family had weird issues with sex.  Like a belief that we were only valued for sex that came even from my grandma.

Ugh.  Just writing all that makes me sick to my stomach.  Grief and shame floods me in waves.

But then there is also pride.  Shock.  My mom actually gave me something GOOD!  Her tenacity to keep me put a GOOD tenacity within me to do the same for my kids no.matter.what.   I cried different tears realizing that.  Maybe redemptive tears for her?  I don’t know.

But then counseling happened yesterday.  Weekends are hard.  I think it’s the exhaustion from the week that hits me.  But two people, who know me well, have taken one look at me and told me I look tired.  I am tired.  So. Deeply tired.  Between the nightmares and mind fucks – I haven’t felt safe in a long time.

So.  I sit down in the counselor’s office.  She tells me I look tired.  I tell her I am.  She’s never told me that before so it stood out to me.  I told her all I had realized the weekend before about my mom and the abuse.  I find myself, crying, again how deep the wound is that Chad threw me away.  All men have thrown me away.  How mad I am at God that He made me UNLOVABLE.  Just trash. 

It was then she looked at me and asked how old I was when my dad left.  I told her ten months old. He left because he was an alcoholic, couldn’t find work, and beat my mom… But that I was a cholicy baby.  I was told that all I did was cry and exhaust everyone.  She asked me if a baby is responsible for crying when it’s in pain.  I said no.  But it can drive people away and my dad never acknowledged me after that.  Not even a birthday card.

Her eyes brimmed with compassion and she asked me, “Janine.  When are you going to stop carrying everyone else’s responsibility?”  I stared at her in bafflement.  “huh?”

She got three objects.  One represented my dad.  One represented me.  The other represented responsibility.  She told me she wanted me to move responsibility off of me and onto my dad.

She tells me that I am not responsible for my dad leaving.  I am not unlovable because he denied my existence until the day he was murdered.  She tells me it’s not my fault I have bipolar.  She tells me it’s not my responsibility/fault chad left.  It’s not my fault I was raped.  It’s not my fault I was molested and it’s not my fault my mom beat me and abused me.  Even though she said it was.  Every day.  I would have to gauge her moods or I would pay the consequences.  When she beat me she said it was my fault.  When she couldn’t hug me it was my fault.  God.  Everything was my fault.  Everything equaled to me being unlovable.  Everything.  Everyone.

So. Here I am.  Truly and honestly sick to my stomach.  My head hurts.  Overwhelmed.  I don’t know how to except that the responsibility isn’t mine to carry.  That’s like telling me the grass is green when my whole life it was red.  I don’t know how to process the belief that I’m lovable.  All I’ve ever known is that it’s my fault or ‘responsibility’ as to why I’m not lovable.  Sometimes it was a silent message, but a deeply ingrained one.  Only firmed up by boyfriends, Jason’s emotional/mental/spiritual abuse, and ultimately Chad.  Chad.  The one man I trusted and believed.  Seriously.  The very first person ever.  He was my night in shining armor.  And then I was trash all over again.

So.  I wrestle.  I wrestle being thankful God is showing me all this.  Trying to believe He must love me to do so.  Struggling trying to grasp that all those beliefs are lies.  I truly feel ill by it all. Overwhelmed. And confused.  And so much damn grief.  I burn from pain to the depths of my core and i'm not sure what to do with any of it.