The Little Girl In the Grownup Me

"It will get better." I hear the preacher say that, as I ride down the street listening to the YouTube video through the car stereo system. I wonder if life will really get better. As a child, I remember always hearing people say that and then seeing those same people were always the ones caught in a struggle. I wondered if that was said just to make them feel better about themselves or if they truly believed it. And if they truly believed it, then where was the proof in their lives.

As a young girl, I was met with many obstacles. Many decisions that I made in my early teens were shaped by the struggles I faced during that time. It was hard enough trying to balance being the youngest and only girl of four, trying to fit in where you were told little girls wore dresses and played with dolls and I preferred sweatpants and playing wrestling and ninja turtles with the boys. But then add to that pressure, the onslaught of emotions brought on by being raped at a young age and being molested and coming up in a family unit that believes that what happens in the family, stays in the family, and that is a recipe for disaster. I remember the immediate effects of the abuses were the rage. I was mad at everything and nothing at the same time. I fought to maintain myself where I had lost my identity. I thought that I was being punished for something I didn't quite understand. I battled with depression and anxiety and low self-esteem. I dealt with worthlessness and trying to be perfect to hide all the areas where I felt incomplete. I forged relationships that I should have never been in seeking to find love to replace the areas of pain. Then when life started to feel like it was eating me from the inside out, I joined the Army with hopes of an Escape. I soon found out that running from a problem doesn't rid you of it, it just makes that voice smaller in your mind for a period of time. I got accustomed to busying myself through life to shut down the voice in my head that was telling me I was damaged and no one would want me, that I was worthless. The problem with that is, once you lay down at night and there is no longer the hustle and bustle of the busy day, there those thoughts are waiting for you in the midnight hour. So, insomnia was a major part of my childhood and early twenties. Sleep became a distant memory, a foreign dream, and hope. Maybe I will, maybe I won't. I lived this way, pushing through each day, doing everything I could possibly do to keep my mind going a mile a minute for a long period. I became a mother and wife and worked full-time and went to school full-time online in an accelerated degree program. I was worn out and barely hanging on.

A few months after having my last child, my daughter, I had an accident that would force me to face my issues head-on. I could no longer work and that meant much time on my hands to remember everything I was trying so hard to forget. Suddenly I was that little 12-13-year-old girl abused, broken, misunderstood and told to hold it all in because if they diagnose you as depressed or anxious, you are classified. There were times I wanted to give up and then I would look at the three beautiful individuals that looked up to me for their livelihood. I knew even back then that my husband and I were headed for divorce, I just wasn't willing to admit it because being married meant that someone had seen something in me. To say my marriage was a failure would mean that he was mistaken and bring back those feelings of rejection and low self-esteem.

It was in my early twenties during that time where I started to do the hard work of healing. I realized at that time, that if things were going to be different for my children, specifically my daughter when she grew up, it was going to take me breaking some things off of my life that was generational. I later found out that I wasn't the only one in my family that had been abused. It was never said exactly who or what, but looking at the family dynamic and different stories where portions were left out, it was easy enough to fill in the blanks based on my own personal experience. I decided that in order for me to prevent the cycle from coming down and through another generation, it had to stop with me. Even if it meant, I would be the black sheep, or that some would grow to dislike me and hate me because of it. The pain and anguish I had felt, my daughter or my sons wouldn't. It wasn't easy telling what happened to me and there was backlash shortly afterward, but the freeing feeling that I had was worth every moment. For once, the little girl inside of me was finding her voice and living. And she would never be silenced again. Of course, finding my voice meant finding out that the marriage I was in, was forged on things I no longer felt the need to be imprisoned too. I no longer had to just accept things for what they were because I didn't think I was worthy of better. I no longer felt as if I needed him to solidify that someone would want me because I valued myself enough to know that I was made in the image of God and that He called me. So, as I ponder over the preacher's words, "It will get better", I ask myself, has it gotten better? The answer is a resounding yes! Now, instead of thinking of my situation in terms of what it took from me, I look at it in terms of what it has given me. It's given me my voice and there are so many women who can relate and I pray that by sharing my story, that they will be bold enough to share theirs and stand in their truth. That they will be able to love themselves and see themselves for who God called them to be. I am finally resting at night and insomnia is a thing of the past. Last but certainly not least, that little broken girl inside of me, has finally had the chance to grow up and be everything she has ever wanted to be. And so I smile as I glance down the road at my intended destination, and I say to myself, "They sure will get better!"