Quiet the Harsh Voice

The undercurrent throbbing almost below consciousness runs the same, a feeling of being bad or wrong ingrained into my psyche since childhood due to the sexual attacks by loved ones. Maybe more damaging was that the traumatic experiences were never allowed expression… that meant no love, support or medical attention offered to process and work through it. 

There it sat solidifying within me. As a child alone with such traumas the only way through was to blame myself, otherwise it is the family that is bad. The family was all I had, so I blamed myself. How could I not?  . 

The message that I’m bad became central, the core of my personality. My fear is that threads of it will forever stay. The work continues. Progress has been made, yet when winter pulls me under, the wish to sleep till spring like a bear takes hold. Each day must be faced with the goal that by day’s end there will be a feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment.

Nearing evening the boxes are checked, and too often failing in some. That some is a word used in that sentence is a step forward. Rather than seeing it all as failures, there is room for all that is achieved. That is progress. The harsh voice is softened. 

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