The Raw Beginning: Spilling the Tea
Alright folks, gather ‘round because I’m about to spill some tea — some tea about me. What better time for a hearty dose of truth-telling than Thanksgiving, right? I’m diving into the kind of soul-searching that’s nitty-gritty and sometimes downright grimy. You know, the stuff I’ve been blabbering about.
Well, today’s the day I decided to stop talkin’ about it and be about it. I’ve been waiting for this moment to actually spill the beans. And, I’d have to admit. It’s scary for me. But, with just a handful of readers (bless your hearts), this confession might just get lost in the internet’s abyss of cat videos and conspiracy theories. So, let’s get to it.
Unraveling the Knots: My Quest for Self-Discovery
This isn’t some sob story to fish for sympathy. Nah. It’s a deep dive into how reflecting on this wild ride is helping me untangle the complex web of my life. It’s about piecing together the events and choices that have glued themselves to my habits and dependencies. Time to kick those to the curb.
If you’ve been trudging through my ramblings, you might’ve sensed that I’m on a quest. Yup, the good old ‘finding myself’ saga. Spoiler alert: it’s a never-ending rollercoaster, and this round of individuation is a beast.
The Rollercoaster Years: Childhood and Teenage Turmoil
Childhood and teenage years — oh boy, what a joyride of emotional and physical abuse. Those who’ve been through that circus develop some pretty quirky coping tricks. We all end up hurling our baggage onto someone or something else at some point, right? Be it people, groups, ideologies, or yeah, even the big guy upstairs, God.
Thanksgiving, of all times, really brings out those skeletons and cringe ideologies, alongside the standard family feuds. I know that tune all too well. It’s the melody of unresolved pain and forced smiles.
Breaking Free: From Rebellion to Self-Discovery
My childhood was a rollercoaster with more dips than peaks. Emotional and physical abuse was the relentless theme, stretching from my kiddie years right into adulthood. At 15, I hit my rebellious streak, my first big individuation phase.
It was supposed to be all about fast-pitch softball — my jam since I was 10. But then, my teenage brain kicked in, and I became the family oddball for questioning everything. Diving into mystical philosophy at 14–15? That was me, trying to make sense of a world that felt senseless.
Hebrew school was cool, but those stories? Like that Exodus story — painting doors with lamb’s blood to avoid a divine massacre? That’s when I started questioning everything I was taught to believe.
Exploration and Rebellion: The Teenage Years
The teen years got wilder. I branched out into studying other religions, finding solace in Jewish mysticism, Kabbalah, and dabbling in Hinduism, Buddhism, and a dash of Hermeticism. Witchcraft, the 90s craze, still holds a special place in my heart. It’s silly, yet something about it feels right.
In the midst of all this exploration, I was also dodging curveballs at home and dealing with a literal nightmare with my childhood best friend’s dad. But let’s not go down that rabbit hole.
A Twist of Fate: Embracing Motherhood Against All Odds
Acting out as a teen, I was seen as a one-way ticket to Crazy Town. Therapists, teen reforming institutions, and the label ‘mentally unstable’ became my world. Forced to take meds that left me feeling like a zombie with a bad hangover, I realized they were just trying to mute the real me.
Then at 18, life threw me a curveball: I got pregnant. My folks wanted a quick fix, an abortion. But that fiery, defiant streak in me shouted ‘Back-Off!’ to a world trying to control me. I embraced motherhood, flipping a big ol’ bird to convention. My son, the one they wanted me to abort, is now a proud Navy sailor.
Confrontation and Clarity: A Thanksgiving Like No Other
You know, just when you think you’ve got it all figured out, family finds a way to open old wounds. This year, confronting my mom about the abuse and my absence at Thanksgiving was like opening Pandora’s box. Her response? Complete denial and blame-shifting. The classic ‘you nearly gave me a heart attack as a teenager’ guilt trip.
Boiling mad, I faced the truth. This showdown reaffirmed that some family ties are better cut than mended. I realized I couldn’t keep playing their part in my story. It’s not about holding grudges; it’s about preserving my sanity. It’s about surrounding myself with people who support my growth, not those trapped in their twisted version of the past.
So, this Thanksgiving was different. It was me choosing my peace over tradition. It was me stepping out of the circus they call family time. No more being the clown in their show.
The Journey Continues: Writing My Own Story
Here I am, twenty years later, piecing together the puzzle of my life. It’s a 1000-piece nightmare, but I’m finding the missing pieces. I’ve come to realize our personal screw-ups aren’t just ours. They’re inherited from generations of family drama. Understanding this doesn’t excuse the past, but it does add a twist to the plot.
I’m looking at my family’s history with new eyes. It’s not about excusing; it’s about understanding. I’m breaking the cycle for the next generation, no more handing down trauma like a warped family tradition.
As I move forward, I carry a suitcase of lessons learned and a flicker of hope for a future where my past doesn’t hold me back. Maybe my story can be a beacon for someone else lost in the dark, showing there’s a way out of the family circus.
For those on this healing journey, remember, it’s a marathon, not a sprint. Your pain is real, and your journey towards healing is epic. We’re not just the sum of our past mistakes. We’re the authors of our own unique, beautifully flawed stories. Let’s keep writing them with guts, truth, and maybe a few f-bombs along the way.
© 2023 Evelyn Ann Rose. All rights reserved.
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