” Once believing that there was so much good to be had
Never quite realizing the bad that could be
Only to one day notice the trauma that surrounded
Each happy memory “
There was a day, long ago, where I could believe that life as we know it is made of colourful butterflies and rainbows. I recall those days, clapping my hands to a sing-a-long in my father’s white convertible on a warm summer day in the prairies.
I remember this moment so vividly, to such a way that I have convinced myself that this day was only a dream. Or so it feels that it must have been. Because not long after that moment, I had been quickly reminded that life as we know it is much more grim; as my father’s girlfriend threw my sister and I’s heads together… Only for my father’s response to be that of neglect and ignorance.
This day changed my perception of good. It quickly led me to realize that this world is not all perfect. This was where it began.
From that day forward, things began to change. The butterflies lost their colour, the rainbows were much more faint. The sounds of arguments behind closed doors became louder, shrugs of ingenuine love felt more evident. Missed calls to my father happened more often, my mother’s lullabies happened less frequently, my needs began to be put off to the side. The numbness became more apparent as I begged for more love.
It was not until years later in my pre-adolescent life that I realized this numbness existed full-heartedly. A day I recall as vividly as that white convertible ride. My first encounter of forced physical attention. Hardly a teenager, hardly capable of assertion, definitely incapable of combative defence.
It was that day that it all really began for me.
Realizing that nature and nurture are detrimentally different.
The same way that the word love is in different contexts.
I could continue into this long epidemical plot line about the destructive trauma that created my misinterpreted mind. But I won’t bore you with such a laundry list.
The beginning is the relevance here. The beginning of the end. The day that I was told that I had to visit my father, without being asked why I did not want to. The day that I was told I had to attend high school, without being asked why I did not want to. Realizing that my words held no relavance in the decisions, I had zero advocacy for my body or life. My feeling of security was not something of value to my caregivers, n’or to friends that I believed cared for me.
Parenting. It is not an easy feat. By no means am I telling my parents that they made a mistake. In reality, they were extremely fortunate to have had such a resilient child to withstand the trauma that they’d unforeseeably implemented into my life. They did what they could, they did what they knew how to do. It isn’t their fault. But it is the result of their actions.
The theme to this conversation is to depict my views on nature vs. nurture. Quite honestly, I believe that we are all built to be good. Why? Well, do you recall that white convertible? I do. I recall that I had divorced parents, a semi-absent father, a step-father who was too young and small town to understand how to treat young girls, and a highly intelligent mind that was completely un-treated with the challenges that it deserved. I had the perfect recipe for nature to run it’s course and berate me into a devastating cycle of negativity.
But I hadn’t been taught how to hate just yet.
It was not until life began to nurture me through pain, neglect and betrayal before I’d chosen to fall into the negative habits that I’d take on in future years. It was not until I had learnt to numb the pain, to hide from the emotion and to release my stress with destructive behaviour that I found the deep, dark and heavy person that I became.
And it was also loving and caring nurture that helped curate my healing.
Funny how that works.
Neesh Media 