The concern even now so late in age is that knowing myself still eludes me. Comments are made, behaviors occur, that surprise me when thinking about them later. Where did that come from? Blurting out things that do not align with a mature self sometimes happens.
Pondering the why with curiosity is a much better approach than self-hate, and a much better way to learn and get to know myself. Yet the lapses in judgement are bothersome, that knowing myself is so strange.
Much of feeling a stranger to myself stems from growing up mute about tragedies occurring to my body… with no one to help stop it, care, or allow talking about the ravages against my body by brothers.
Mute I became—any real feelings squashed to continue being part of the only family I had. My guess is that learning to be mute is typical for most children who are sexually abused. To have a voice would mean a family secret getting out.
Learning what lies below continues to be a journey of discovery, and it is not easy. It is not easy because each time a real feeling is unearthed it feels like breaking taboo
I was not encouraged to be myself, know myself, or be free in any way. And too often these binders clamp down even with no there locking them onto me. I want freedom, and daily must search for it.