Member-only story
Someday, you will find the beauty beyond the pain.
Healing isn’t about erasing the pain. It’s about finding strength in the cracks and holding onto joy even when life hurts.
My healing journey has been a long one (and I really wish I would have started it earlier). I was in my 30s before I finally told my husband what happened in my childhood home. He knew from interactions with my family that something was weird in our house, but I didn’t offer him details. At first, I was scared he’d get mad at them and cause trouble. I was still trying to protect them. I was in peacekeeping mode, even if I was the one who paid the cost. Later, because the shame I was taught to feel had dug its claws in deep, I believed that if I told him anything, he would no longer love me.
When I did start talking to him, I tried to be as logical and clinical as possible, thinking that I could avoid bringing buried emotions to the surface. But that’s not how it works, and it was even less helpful than staying silent.
The first emotion that rose to the surface was anger. The words, “Who does that to a little kid?” stayed on repeat in my mind. I have three kids and four grandkids. I can’t even imagine speaking to any of them the way I was spoken to growing up. Some days, the anger would well up so strongly that I absolutely hated my mom and stepfather.
