*An attempt at letting anger out, without interjecting kinder words or trying to save other people’s feelings. An attempt of not justifying everything, using logic, or coming from my capable, adult, student-counselor self. An attempt to come only from the very hurt little parts of me that can’t understand no matter how much reality is presented.
I have been so mad at my mom all this time because she let my dad stay. She let my dad treat my brother and I in ways I would never treat my own children and she rarely tried to intervene. She let my dad bully her and emotionally abuse all of us.
My therapist and I came all of this way and her husband interfered and I am fuming upset at him. But I am equally upset at myself for not being able to get over it. If I want to see my therapist so badly in our space, why am I doing this to myself? Why am I letting him continue to interfere, when he’s not actually interfering? Why am I allowing panic to rule my life and bury the trauma work we were working through?
Underneath all of that self-hate is boiling lava. From the lens of my inner-child: the anger is saved for my therapist because she won’t tell him to leave. She won’t tell her husband to leave to save her children (me) from emotional harm. It’s worse than anger. It’s an abandoning hurt. “We can go to lunch, or to the park” (in the fucking 90 degree heat) effectively saying: we can avoid him, and you can’t come back because he will be there and I will not tell him to leave.
He has no consequences.
My dad had no consequences.
It must be nice to hold so much power.
When I was little I used to watch our family like a movie. Observing and taking it all in and letting everyone’s emotions suffocate me as I tried to keep the peace and be exactly how my dad wanted me to be. And it slowly started to take bits of my life from me.
Now I am little again, waiting for things to be made right, and feeling quite devastated that it doesn’t look like things will be made right. That somehow, if I could be more perfect, this wouldn’t be the case. That it is my fault. I do not have access to emotional safety because I messed something up, and my mom does not have the power to fix it.
Now I am little, crying red hot tears that burn my pink cheeks and sting the edges of my mouth as they ceaselessly drop from the edges of my eyelashes.
My mom can’t come. She can’t find a solution. And it doesn’t make sense to me–if she wants to keep me safe, if she loves me, if she doesn’t want to abandon me, the mama bear part of her should be roaring and FIGURING IT THE FUCK OUT.
I feel hopeless. I feel like I’ve created this huge land in therapy where I get to heal but it wasn’t real and now it’s over, and if there isn’t anymore healing than life is over.
Red, hot, burning, tears. Where is my mama wolf?
Mama wolves don’t protect their baby pups when they are merely adopted. It’s not the same biological need to save your child when the genes come from someone else.
And if I’m going to be thrown back to the wolves, I don’t have the energy to search for another pack that will surround me.
Maybe I’ll flourish. Maybe I’ll be able to take what I have learned and be a thriving, whole, person. But right now it feels like death. I feel like Simba, watching a loved one part from me because of another family member. And I must go away, because I had something to do with it and my life is over, anyway.