childhood

I´ll try to tell you what I told my therapist.
(the headline speaks for itself.)
I was able to tell my therapist what makes me still anxious.
When I was a child, teenager and almost-adult, my dad treated me like rubbish.
He made me feel as if I´d be the reason for him to shout at me and hit me.

It´s still difficult for me to talk about it.
So I can be proud of myself for takling about it.

I went cold on a neighbor that moved away last October.. She was unbelievable and so toxic. Everyday she would show up at my house and I felt bad and let her in. Her children, grown, hate her and her husband had moved out of the bedroom almost a decade ago. She is a toxic lier! Telling her entire family she has MS and for 10 years she had everyone fooled she saw a doctor and was medicated. An emergency revealed she lied. The lies were enormous! So I felt bad for her because her husband filed for divorce, but he did catch her cheating when she got caught having sex with her married boss and they both got fired!
Here's my problem, number one, I'm a scapegoat, 2 I'm an empath and my heart is huge but I know I should not be talking with her at all and she just called after a year! She's almost homeless! And I know id never let her move in here but she needs my help. I did her divorce for her in 2022! And neglected myself!! I know I shouldn't answer the phone if she calls again!!! I know my new therapist would be very upset I decided to take 2 calls from her after a year! I'm mad at myself!! Do I answer again and explain again I need to take care of me, my husband and home or do I never answer again? I'm the daughter of a narcissistic mother and the scapegoat of the family. So you know where my heart is always at!! Thanks guys for your help!!! #Toxic #CPTSD #Anxiety #mood disorder #scapegoat #Childhood abuse #Bipolor #Daughter of a narcissistic mother

As we have entered summer I have found myself thinking of what summer meant for me as child. It meant sleeping in and freedom from school but it also meant only a week or two before it got too hot and my joints started to swell. It meant being incredibley hot in AFOs, trying to chase after my cousins who were running in the backyard. Or when I did finally catch them they were already on to the next destination, where I had to decide do I want to be in pain for the next few days or do I want to have fun now. Usually it just meant playing cards with my mom off to the side waiting for the summer birthday cake to arrive. I’m not saying I hate summer but they aren’t all that when your left watching the other kids. My parents always made sure to adapt things, so I wouldn’t be left out but after a while I learned it was easier to wait. Wait for when summer didn’t mean running around, hours in the pool but instead meant phone calls, travel, walks, and board games for everyone not just me. So, I am thinking about all the young kids with CP who may be feeling left out. If you’re a parent of a kid with a disability who is having similar expirences to what I just described please tell them: I’m sorry it really stinks. I wish thinks were easier but we don’t have to do the same thing as everyone else, we can adapt it or we can make our own summer. summer doesn’t have a rule book no matter what others say. Make summer your own, and in a few years more and more people will join you, settle into your summer instead. Happy summer!

Her voice as a 75-year-old woman is shriveled. Smaller. Crouched on the floor. She says nothing of import. She hears nothing of consequence. She eats. She sleeps. She ambles.

I am aware of her through my niece’s routine—preparing her meals and taking her on walks. I am reminded often that her old age care costs lots of money. But I take these tidbits of news and stack them on a high shelf amongst the tattered memories of childhood I prefer not to peruse too often.

She takes up space in a tiny corner of my mind. It’s small but goddammit, still there. I am grown. I am mostly whole again. I am tethered to this frail time in my life that has ironically made me strong.

My mother hovers over me, a ghosted memory wrapped around a fragile-bodied woman still existing in my family orbit—distant as they are. They are alien—unknown to me but certain in their invasion of my world.

#MothersDay #adultsurvivor #CPTSD #ComplexPTSD #Trauma #Childhood trauma

I heard this song today and I have pretty much played it over and over. This is a song for people who feel alone and that are ready to give up. It spoke to my heart and made me realize that I’m not alone

music.apple.com/us/album/youre-not-done/1656915354

#BipolarDisorder #SchizoaffectiveDisorder #Childhood sexual assault #CPTSD

I’m fixing to head to process my first childhood trauma and I’m scared shitless. I’ve done the homework. Wrote the details of what happened I have the picture of me at that age that the the trauma happpened. I just want this little girl in me to feel safe enough to come forward and tell her story and not to hold back her emotions and feelings. She needs to be heard so we can both heal and finally have peace from the trauma. I can do this. I’ve got the strength and determination to let her be heard. #Childhood trauma #BipolarDisorder #SchizoaffectiveDisorder #ComplexPosttraumaticStressDisorder #OCD

Very often during the day I have trouble letting go of Many people who chose to take me for granted after giving my trust can anyone relate?

Dear USA,

It’s been many years since I left home, a place I loved and freely roamed.

Born in nineteen sixty-three amidst a war across the sea.

n the south where I grew up, desegregation bloomed like butter cups.

Children from the city known for song were placed on buses and travelled long.

In class three a bus stopped to park at my school, out poured children red, Black, and blue. I was excited to see their faces, unaffected by our different races.

In class three I played daily with Antoine, Joyce, and tiny Bailey.

Their dark brown eyes to this day, warm my heart in a solemn way

Clasped hands white and brown, skipping rope and running `round.

We merrily sang until the school bell rang,

“Ring around the rosies, a pocket full of posies, ashes, ashes, we all fall down!” All while spinning on the merry-go-round.

Taking turns we felt each other’s hair, our teacher smiled as we sat in our chairs.

Our teacher too was brown and had a baby growing, we all were told as she was showing.

I recall a day while she was on duty, a white boy gave her a gift, two hand knit booties.

Her face lit up for they were hand sewn by his white mother, someone unknown.

“Bussing” humans, the government cited, was a success as we were united

Now I am sixty in a far away land, my country divided like it all began.

Red, Black, and blue a whole other meaning, what happened to us playing and singing?

Society scarred and sour, carelessly handled by no superpower.

I hate you yet long for you, your troubles are mine, too.

I defend you, our people, your resilience, and pride

Yet I am broken as the world watches in stride. Guns, shootings, and Black American’s still, fighting to live without being killed.

How are Antoine, Joyce, and Bailey? Are your babies now men, are they worried daily?

Protest signs, riots are all still there, not in my memory but daily in flares!

As children we huddled in tornado drills, giggled, joked, and made small squeals.

Now although in so called unition school drills are needed against ammunition

At eight with Antoine, Joyce, and Bailey side by side, we never imagined our lives would divide.

I never imagined I’d live across the sea; I wonder if they remember me

As headlines roll in from my home state, peace and love are still a debate

The flag which waves before me is yellow and blue, this country is not perfect, yet better it’s true.

Democracy, hypocrisy, all countries have crisis; I expected my homeland to still be the nicest.

I stand at the shore of the North Sea as tears well up for my Tennessee.

The little girl inside still cares about you, the USA, red, Black, and blue.

Sincerely,

Hope

#blm #Racism #Tennessee #desegregation #Childhood #bussing #Love #Friendship #usa #Discrimination #peace #whitepriviledge #democracy