Selfish

Why are we expected to constantly give up on our needs and our own self care for others? Day after day after day. And we're not allowed to complain when daily things come up and prevent our self care. 

This keeps going and going and going to the point we lose ourselves, to the point we begin have emotional breakdowns. So we have to schedule that BIG self care moment. The time away from everything so we can finally have that break we need. 

Then, as we are holding on with our finger nails to sanity, just a day away from that break we need to rest, something big happens. Something bad. And if you voice how upset and disappointment you are about not getting to have the break you need for your sanity, you're selfish. You are so supremely selfish you are beyond redemption. So instead of voicing any of your own internal struggle you have to somehow muster more strength that you no longer have, to be strong for someone you love. Because they need you. Even though you have no more to give. Your cup isn't just empty, it's shattered, and you no longer get a chance to put it back together. Now, you have to calmly, kindly, give someone a sledgehammer to finish it off. 

I actually understand people who commit suicide now. It's not always that they are sad. Sometimes they have just given so much of themselves there is nothing left. No energy left to keep living. To keep giving. 

childhood

I always thought I had a happy childhood. I was a happy kid. I read a ton of books, ran free in the woods during the summer, and sister really ever have to clean my room.

We didn't have cable, phone, or internet. But, you don't need those things to have a happy childhood! We had an extensive VHS and eventually DVD collection we got from the movie stores clearing out stock. All my friends thought it was the coolest!

But we also didn't have much food in the house. Or much adult supervision after 12.

And then I arrived my husband and started hearing his childhood stories. He said he had an overall good childhood but remarked on the parts he would change. And then I really started to examine my own childhood with adult eyes.

My father told me to lie. A lot. Lie to the school. Lie to my friends. If I didn't lie then CPS would take me away and put me in foster care. I'd never see him again.

My father raised me very strictly that drugs and alcohol were bad, evil even. "Look at your sister!" He'd say. She was brought home drunk by the police so often I lost count. Kicking the door and windows when he'd refuse to let her in until she sobered up. But my father was a meth addict. A METH ADDICT.

Why didn't we have those extras? Or much food in the house? Because he was a FUCKING METH ADDICT and was so busy buying meth that he forgot I needed food too.

As a mom, I look back and start remembering nights I slept under my bed because my dad was convinced there were "night crawlers" outside our house with guns. He and his friends would wander our house with loaded guns to "protect" us kids. I said kids. There were 3 of us. 

My father gave me an unswerving work ethic. Bust your ass, keep your boss down. Don't attract attention. 

What I never realized is that he was able to work those long hard hours BECAUSE HE WAS TWEEKING! Those days he came home and slept for 2-3 days straight? Yeah. Not just "tired"

I will never hold my husband's and my hobbies against us. You know why? Our kids are warm, clean, fed, and cared for. We work hard for the funds that we have, but we provide essentials before we buy those hobby items.

While we were cleaning out the garage and reorganizing all the tools, hand me downs from his dad, mine, and what we have amassed together I finally cleaned out the roll away from my dad. It was filthy. Thankfully nothing illegal or anything like that. But the fine silt dust that covered everything made my skin crawl. I lived my entire childhood steeped in that dust. Never feeling clean. Is it any wonder that I bathed so often as a teen? That I have serious texture issues with things that make me feel dirty?

There is so much more. And the thought that pervades it all is this. Why did no one save me?

The only adult who didn't know what was happening was my mom. Because when he FINALLY let her see me he'd already groomed me to lie. To put on that pretty facade.

But EVERY ONE ELSE KNEW. Why didn't anyone call CPS? I wouldn't have gone to foster care, i know that now. I would have gone to my mother or one of my aunts, uncles, grandparents, etc who are good people. Why did no one save me?