A Night of Processing...

I knew he had listened to it. My 2nd born son. He listened to the podcast episode. I now knew he knew my story, my truth, about what happened in Hawaii. He was 10 at the time. I still didn't know his story. And I knew that I didn't want him to feel any obligation to view mine as the "truth", only my story. I know his lens was so very different.

I had become so desensitized that I didn’t stop to think how it would sound to a young man to hear about his mother being repeatedly sexually assaulted. How hard it would be to comprehend why she thought that he would have been better off without her. He said he cried the whole way through. She felt his pain, once again. As suggested, this would be addressed more in a joint therapy session between myself and my son. That pain was even harder to contain. He remembers a solitary childhood in which he was in charge of his brothers. He remembers us fighting a lot. He remembers almost being physically abused by his father. He remembers me crying. There are no happy memories. Those are the ones that I hold on to. The little league games, birthday parties, camping trips, making forts in the woods. He remembers some of these things, but he remembers feeling as if he was in charge of his brothers. But was there. And the years that he speaks of are years that I poured myself into my children and was a stay-at-home mom most of the time during. I was sober. So much. So much more to unpack.

But there was a toxicity between their father and I that clearly didn’t go without notice. I remember him raging when he was only 4 or 5 years old, telling me that he felt like the devil was inside of him. I was sometimes scared that he would physically harm his younger brother, before our 4th son was born. He remembers not being able to feel empathy and he remembers being angry. I also remember his Nana, my mother, always feeling like she had to protect him from his father. She would often watch them when I did work or went on errands in town. I would minimize it. I would tell her she was overexaggerating. Thinking of all of this now, I am sick. My stomach is in knots and I’ve been intermittently crying all afternoon. I went through pictures of my boys earlier today, before we celebrated one of their birthdays this afternoon. My babies. Why didn’t I realize what our toxic relationship was doing to them? I know I’m not supposed to “should have” myself, but I truly should have known better. If this is what I knew, what I remember, is there more that I missed?  I’m sorry boys. So sorry. So. much more to unpack.

I bet your dad still gets to you, too. It still happens to me. Somehow, I’ll start to question my own reality. That’s my cue. But it’s often too real to know that it’s not true. And I rabbit hole. And I question all of the work that I’ve put in for the last 8 years to rebuild myself. To find out who I really am. To find out most assuredly who I am not. So, when she shows up, I struggle to see her with compassion. I want to see her as weak. As stupid, thinking that she knew more than he did. She won’t let me read the first paragraph of this page. She won’t let me think about that. About how he hurt us all. But she feels compassion for him. I don’t think that’s what you really feel, you dumb, weak, ignorant girl. You’re scared to feel your own feelings? My heart races, I cry harder.

I stop. I plug in my headphones and turn on some music and I breathe. And I wait. And my heart rate slows and I feel my feel on the ground. And I breathe…

And I gain some clarity.

How can so many parts with such different lenses coexist in me without me sometimes struggling? I have compassion for her. She questions her own worth without his guidance. Even after all this time. This is when I know I’m fully present. In my true Self, because I can see her as a part of me, but not all of me. I don’t hear from her as often as I used to and I like that.  I feel calmer. I feel confident that I will continue to move through this, as I have moved through the rest. I can breathe now. The struggle is staying here, in my true Self, as life continues to unfold. This is when I remind myself that there is strength in vulnerability and strength feels good. Confidence feels good. This is how I know this is me and that my reality is true and one that I am grateful for.

These are the times that my therapist is with me in spirit and I can hear her in my head. I can’t wait to tell her about tonight. I will forever be so grateful that she was the one that was chosen to walk this journey with me. T, this one’s for you.

Sending Good Vibes…

Naazh