Oh Christmas…

Christmas Eve. This holiday hasn’t felt the same in a long time. I went on a hike with a friend yesterday and we were talking about how this holiday feels for us. The reminder that this is a time to spend with your family stings a little. It is a bit different for me because I have a little one. At the end of the day there is a little human that depends on me for his happiness. I love making him smile and the only reason I get up in the morning is because I want to make him happy. However, I am so utterly exhausted and drained. This is the first Christmas that I am choosing not to speak to my mother. We haven’t spoken in months, but she doesn’t know that I am purposely taking this stance. I still don’t have the strength to argue with her on why I don’t feel the need to speak anymore.

There was an article, probably several actually, that discuss the chemical affects on your body when you hug your mother or hear their voice. It is supposed to have a calming effect on your body. However, for the trauma child, that is not the same. My mother’s voice and physical presence do nothing but give me anxiety. I grew up always trying to please people and always being obedient. These traits were ingrained in me and I cannot seem to let them go. I want to be selfish at times and take care of myself, but I always get the inclination to help the person in need before myself. This isn’t necessarily bad, but it also isn’t helpful to one’s mental stability. Reason being, I always feel inclined to help or reach out even if the person involved is not so great. Even when the person involved couldn’t care less about me. I always wanted to please my mother and garner her affection even when she clearly didn’t give a shit.

This weekend I saw a movie that hit really close to home with one single line… To preface this, I am not a foster child. However, I can relate to wanting to please a parent so that they can tell you that they love you. I wanted nothing but to believe that they loved me, but every time I felt let down. There was a scene in the movie where the grandma made a comment that it’s hard to believe you’re really loved when you’ve been treated like shit all your life. Even writing that out loud makes me want to cry. I know my son loves me. But he’s 2… I’m scared he’s going to feel the same about me as I do my parents. I get scared that he’ll wonder whether or not he’s truly loved. I don’t want my life for him. It is so hard to believe i’m truly loved. This sounds pathetic and sounds like i’m begging for affection. I hate myself for feeling like this. I’d rather not wake up than feel like this. But again, a tiny life depends on me being healthy and alive. It is a huge expectation to live up to.

Merry Christmas.

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