Broken Open

I've been contemplating writing this post for a long time. Then there have been more and more events that have encouraged the need to get this out, to write about it, to publish it, to get it out of my head and then let it all go. However, I always follow that up with the fact that it leaves me super vulnerable and with people knowing too much about me, but I also know that there really aren't a ton of people that read this…so then who cares.

I don't know if one really needs to know the beginning in order to understand where I am at this moment, and details really don't matter. Or maybe they do. It's hard to say. As you can tell the thoughts are still jumbled, and attempting to get them to come out of my brain in a clear way may be a struggle.

I have recently remembered, in vivid detail, an experience I had when I was pretty young. My dad's cousin, Jerry, was like a second dad to me. He adored the three of us kids, and I'm almost positive he thought we all walked on water. I remember the last time I saw him. This moment would become a much bigger moment than one could have anticipated at the time. I was 7 or 8 years old at the time. So young. And considering that this happened well over twenty years ago, you would think that I would have been able to let it all go. Nope. It's still there. Hanging in the very back of my mind. Maybe buried behind some other events and dusty. Very dusty.

Jerry came to visit us. I ran out and jumped on him, hugging him with the excitement of a child. He gave me a stuffed animal during this visit, a cat, and this would come to be the only cat that I would ever really love - seriously. He had a long chat with my dad during his visit, and I don't really remember any of the specifics. The thing that sticks out clearly in my head is that my dad kept saying, "Don't do anything stupid, Jerry." I also remember making him promise to come back to me. I made him promise more than once. Jerry never came back that was it. Him leaving that day was our final goodbye. Our last hug. The last time he told me he loved me. The last time I heard his voice. Because the next morning he chose to put a gun to his head and pull the trigger.

At the time I didn't know or fully comprehend the impact this would have on me. To this day when I talk about him and how much he loved me…I can literally feel his love for me. I know how valuable I was to him. I know how much he treasured and adored me. Yet, at the time I know I decided a lot of things about me. I know that these decisions were completely subconscious. My adult self is very aware of that intellectually. The aftermath of that event would be one that would take me years to really wrap my adult head around though. I decided that I wasn't lovable. That if I had been more that he would have made a better choice. That people that love me leave me. And…if all of those aren't a big enough kick in the ass….that men lie. Even if they love you, they lie.

Other experiences, not just the one I described above, have convinced me that those beliefs are definitely true. When I was growing up I was never really enough for my dad. I wasn’t skinny enough – and if my clothes showed exactly how fat I was he made it clear that it was gross and no one would ever want to see that. My grades weren’t high enough. I didn’t do many things as he believed I should. My brother got away with a lot of shit and I decided that was because he was the oldest and because he was a boy. And my little sister was an angel (and I can’t argue with him there, because she really is.) He was very vocal with me and very clear on how he viewed me, and it wasn’t pretty. I wasn’t as easy to love as my siblings. I remember distinctly how I used to pick at the skin on my neck whenever he’d yell at me, just so I could keep myself from crying. Because honestly, if I cried it got worse and it was already bad enough.

I’ve spent years working through the process of forgiving my dad. I have a great relationship with him now. I don’t want there to be any judgment on him because I chose to share this story. My dad was doing the best he could with what he had at the time. He was a product of his childhood. I know this. I’m very familiar with this and I don’t doubt this at all. My dad loves me more than anything in this world. My dad thinks I’m one of the greatest women on this planet, and I know this because he tells me this and the way he expresses this speaks volumes. We’ve repaired a very broken relationship. I’ve forgiven my dad completely. He is a good man. He is a great dad. I would go to battle for this man, and love him with my whole heart. And genuinely hope that someday he forgives himself, because he absolutely deserves to.

I don’t believe for one second that I thought that this is what life would become. I never thought it would become a series of choices, moments, and relationships that would allow me to recreate the same outcome every time. I never thought I'd spend a good portion of my time and energy doing everything I can to be perfect for everyone else. Well, who at any age, knows that they are making such deep rooted decisions about who they are and the rest of their life. It was a moment. That has since defined so much of my life. There has been so much pain and heartache that has come with each choice that has lead me to those paths that have recreated those exact same feelings.

I have found myself in many relationships with men that are the kind of men that would allow me to be right about all of the things that I decided about myself at 7 years old. I will never be enough for them…even if I do everything they ask me to do. I can contort myself into some version of myself that I no longer recognize, and it would never be enough. They lie. They leave. And if I was just a bit more lovable, or just more of everything I’m not, then none of that would have happened. It’s always my fault. Always. Regardless of how awful the man is. And I have been with some pretty awful men. When a good man approaches me or seems interested in me, there is no way to convince me that it’s actually possible. I’ve literally had them say, "You must know I'm crazy about you!" And I never got it at the time. I’ve always worried that any man that ended up with me would feel like he got the short end of the stick. So painful to admit, and yet it's always there in the back of my mind.

Recently, I’ve come to realize a few things about those beliefs. They are complete and total lies. Yet, as long as I believe them nothing about my life will change and I’ll keep getting the same results that I’ve always gotten. I’ve spent so many years worried that I’m going to mess it all up, so I’m terrified to make decisions because I’m fearful that I’ll make the wrong one. There’s something so beautiful about making a decision though…there’s no way to make the wrong one. No way. There really is no way to mess it all up. You choose something today and if you don’t like where that choice is leading you, then you make a new choice tomorrow. Every day is a new day to choose. So, lately I’ve been making different choices. I choose to be enough. I choose to look in the mirror and love what I see. I choose to believe that there are great, honest men in the world. I choose to know that I can be loved just as I am, and that I'm worthy of great love. I choose forgiveness. Forgiveness for those that have done me wrong and, more importantly, I choose to forgive me. There’s so much power in choice, and I’m choosing to be a very powerful woman.

Friends, when a child grows up believing they are awful, they will carry that for a very long time. I know this from experience. When you are interacting with children – show them love. Tell them they are the greatest and that they can do anything they decide to do. Tell them that they are perfect as they are, and please, tell them that they are enough. Show them what it means to love their mind and body, their eyes, their hands, their sense of humor…show them what it means to love themselves. It’s hard work, but as an adult that has struggled with this…it’s so much harder when you have over twenty years of repairs to mend.

I’m not broken, though, I’m perfectly imperfect.