I’ve fought my past as if by doing so I could magically change it and instead I could morph into a family like the ‘Beaver Cleaver’ family, all sweet and nice and perfect. I cannot change it no matter how much fighting, drinking, running, eating, or raging I do, all things that filled my life as I tried to escape the pain of my past.
I was born to a family who would attack rather than love me. Once I ‘accepted’ that inescapable truth and my loathsome reality, the intensely burdensome heavy load I battled to escape from… became lighter… or settled finally into a place within me where it always had been.
My brothers used my body as if I didn’t matter. Their actions and choices caused me a life of struggles and too often I wished I had no life.
I still struggle. But I have ‘accepted’ that this is so. Saddened, but more at peace. I ‘accept’ the truth and the horrific reality of my childhood.
What I still work at and won’t accept until my dying breath is the grooved pattern in my head and heart that says “I’m no good.”
This I don’t accept. Yet the grooves run deep and I must remember each day that I have to pay attention to those mean voices and confront them over, and over again. That’s my work. I forget too easily. It’s a constant job. But everyone has work to do.
So be it. I accept the things I cannot change, change the things I can, and pray for the wisdom to know the difference.