The Sandbox Writing Challenge 5-What Makes You Different? So the past four challenges from the Sandbox have been kind of fun, warm-up exercises. But now I’d like you to take out your shovel and dig a little deeper, to seriously ponder what it is about you that you feel makes you different from everybody else………..
I’ve spent a considerable amount of time thinking how and what direction I was going to go with this…a light-hearted, easy way…or take the darker, more serious path….my thoughts kept going back to my darker path. I guess it’s time to share some of my story? What makes me different???
See this little girl? That’s me at my kindergarten graduation. Yes, back in ‘those’ days, we graduated from full time kindergarten to 1st grade. That would be the last time I really smiled for a long time. It was right after that, at least I think so, that my mother packed up me and my sisters, left my dad, and went to live with ‘Uncle Donald’, whom she would eventually marry. He was a cop. Everyone liked him. What no one would know, at least I didn’t think anyone knew, he was also a pedophile. I was molested by that man from the age of 7 till I was 9 years young. Now, I realize, this in of itself doesn’t necessarily make me all that much different from a lot of other survivors. I think what makes me different is finding out, years later, that my mother knew I was being sexually abused, while it was happening, and chose to ignore it because she needed to keep a roof over our heads (her reasoning).
What makes me different? I choose not to have a relationship with my mother. While other women have a healthy mother/daughter relationship, mine is and will always be toxic, unhealthy and not good for me. I forgive her, not for her sake but for mine…..She refuses, to this day, to be accountable for her actions, instead blaming others and circumstances for her choices. In all honesty, all I ever wanted from her regarding this, is for her to hug me and tell me she’s sorry for the hurt and pain that I endured. To acknowledge that I was a victim. Instead, what I got was harsh words, denial, excuses and a letter telling me she feels she has suffered enough……..never once mentioning my feelings in all of it. I realize this is her way of coping, so be it..
Others have judged me. How could I cut off my mother that way. She is blood after all. Well, first of all, just because you share a blood line doesn’t make a mother, doesn’t make a family……..if that was the case, she sure as hell wouldn’t have knowingly handed me over to him…..her motherly instinct should have been to protect me…..
This little girl didn’t have much to say in the matter. She was silent. She was hurt. She was scared and had no one to turn to………………..
What makes me different? I accept that what happened to me was/is part of my journey. I still haven’t quite figured out the why in it all.
What makes me different? If given the chance, would I change anything. No, I wouldn’t. Why? Because if I did, that would change the whole course of my life…..and where I am, right now, is where I’m suppose to be. I Love My Life……..
I Am Different….I Am Me….I Am Linda and I Am A Survivor……