Growing Up and Healing are Complicated Matters

I remember the day I sat down with my phone, called all my aunts and uncles and asked them what my life was like growing up, why I felt the way I did about myself and why I was emancipated at 16 by a family friend.

I knew my mother and I had deep resentment towards each other and my father chose to pass on trying to navigate those choppy waters, but I didn’t understand why.

I started out like every other kid. What went wrong?

My aunts and uncles solved the mystery for me. “You was a difficult child.” “Your mother wasn’t prepared to have kids.” “Your father didn’t make much money, and it caused problems in the household.” “You and your mother never bonded, and your father wasn’t able to help.” “You and your mother were like oil and water.”

I had always felt uncomfortable with my mother, like we didn’t belong together. The fights were horrible, and we both emerged black and blue.

Still, I thought this was the way it was in every family.

Until those calls to my relatives.

After the final call I hung up the phone feeling defiant and angry. “So it wasn’t just me, I wasn’t the crazy one! There’s a reason I feel like this. I wasn’t born damaged.”

Finally understanding a past I had effectively blocked out was like walking into sunshine for the first time. The air smelled sweeter; I was OK. I had survived a real situation, and I was here to talk about it.

But understanding my past and being able to talk about it didn’t immediately result in growing. Those seeds had not yet been planted.