Like I stated in the first entry of my blog, I’m really doing this blog for myself. One reason is so I can get some of my memories down so I won’t forget them. But another reason is more therapeutic. I have memories that I would just as soon forget but can’t so I thought maybe it would help for me to blog about them. Only problem is – now some of my friends are reading my blog. So what to do. Let it all hang out, so to speak, or not.
I’ve thought about this for quite a while and here’s what I’ve decided. It’s easy to blog about the funny things in your life. Not so easy to blog about the painful…..but for me, necessary. So, beginning now, I’m gonna start throwing in the good with the bad. I hope I don’t offend anyone. I do want to be clear on one thing. I do not feel sorry for myself. I am a very lucky gal and I think considering all the things I’ve been through….well….I’ve turned out just peachy. And, if I hadn’t experienced the bad…..I wouldn’t appreciate my life near as much now. So….here goes.
I was abused for about the first 40 years of my life. First by my mother and then later by men. When you’ve been abused since you were a child, it takes a long time to figure it out. It’s just a way of life and you think it’s normal. I went from my mother to abusive marriages. My mother always abused me so it seemed normal for men to treat me badly too. I learn things the hard way and it took years before I finally started looking around and realizing that not everyone was treated the way I was. It was a long journey for me and several helpful people contributed to this journey. Friends, bosses…..even my son helped me. I remember one time when my son was about six years old and I was having a conversation with my mother on the phone. I didn’t even know Ben was listening. After I hung up, he said “mama, why does grandma treat you so bad?” I didn’t even realize she had been treating me bad.
There were several steps to my journey:
1. The first step was the longest. Realizing that I was being abused and that the way I was being treated was not normal.
2. Realizing that I was worthy of not being abused.
3. Realizing that after a certain point in life, abuse is a choice. It’s not a choice when you’re a child but after you’re grown, and if you’re lucky enough to figure out that life is not supposed to be like that, you can choose to never be abused again.
Like I said before, I don’t feel sorry for myself. I’m blessed to have figured it out. I’ve learned from my mistakes. And thank God I have a sense of humor. So here I go, everybody!
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