Wounds

For several weeks my Sunday morning ritual has included listening to the podcast presented by Bob Luckin and his wife Judith. This morning Bob talked about personal wounds and healing. Although I can't participate in the current, Black Lives Matter movement, I do also have wounds that have lasted all my life. They have never properly healed.

In a way I can understand how black citizens feel. They have been taught by history and experiences to not feel worthy, to feel less than others.

My experiences began as a child when I was replaced by a brother when I was 13 months old. I don't think either of my parents intended to be parents. My childhood was spent living in places I didn't feel comfortable bringing friends to. I don't recall one single teacher who went out of her/his way to see that I had value.

I spent 13 years married to a womanizer who added to the job of deflating my self esteem. Next came 27 years surviving a marriage to a person who had been an alcoholic since he was a teenager. His drinking, work and his family always came first. That's forty years of my life that was spent as an invisible person. 

In my 80th year, except for my oldest son, my immediate family members have chosen to delete me from their lives. They apparently have no memory of the struggles I endured trying to raise them to be adults, mostly alone. They have made heroes of others with questionable parenting skills. That kind of reminds me of making a saint out of George Floyd.

For the last 20 years I have tried to forget about what has happened and move on with my life. It is not working. All those negative experiences keep popping up like corks in a body of water. The surgeries I have had during my life do not compare with the pain of being treated like I do not exist.

According to Bob, the only way healing can occur is to rip the bandage off and expose the wound. Alright family I am doing that- let the healing begin!