Mondays are start again days. Lost in a haze over the week, it’s back to essentials. Taming the critic, increasing self-care, hence self-love. And though that sounds easy, it is one of the hardest things for a child who learned she was bad.

A child turned adolescent, teen, early adulthood, now later life. The badness cemented into my being, rooted, gangly, fibrously destructive sending negative messages loudly from my core. To eradicate a root takes much work.

So the work continue, the basics of gentle reminders about self. Not delusions of grandeur, but the truth. Not in the eyes of family who when young encouraged messages that kept me quiet.

My upbringing was formed by false puppet strings of looks, put-downs, and actions that gagged me from speaking the terrible truths of the so called family, stunting my growth and (almost) forever stopping any ability for me to love myself.

They have never looked at what their siblings had done, not then, not now, never. They wanted brotherly love and lived it, disregarding me, which left me on my own.

Like Republicans who stand by while our democracy is shattered, so too I shattered. By the evil doers, yes, but even more by those who know and do nothing, or eviler, buddying up with the criminal… they are more criminal than the attacker.

Messages to myself need constant work and surveillance. Remember what you have been through, how you managed all on your own, and what you survived… while still finding beauty in those precious moments of clarity.  

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