When did I stop growing?
When did I stop being me?
When did I start absorbing?
When did the space between what I thought I was feeling
And when I stopped feeling
And started accepting that I was okay with
The absence of feeling to feel
For others as love.
To take their hurt, their anger, and their pain as mine.
Thinking in many ways as I got older if it wasnt directly aimed at me.
If I was HELPING THEM.
I was feeling.
I was actually suffering for so long.
My body was a weapon used to absorb.
Take it its yours.
I dont feel it, except I hate myself silently.
The grocery store somehow became terrifying.
I stare into cars, why?
All my dreams become dreams that are about sacrificing to HELP OTHERS.
I AM A CAREGIVER, I AM A MARTYR.
I AM A 35 YEAR OLD WOMAN WHO IS DEAD INSIDE AND WHO SUDDENLY HAS TWO BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN.
Wait.
My first son was born on my fathers birthday.
How beautiful.
No.
My father is my abuser.
He taught me love is a weapon, love is sacrifice. Love is abandonment hidden behind fulfilling prophecies we blame on our children.
We end up alone in old homes with pictures. With grandchildren who look like us who reject love and who carry our tears and nighttime fears of "What if I hurt you".
I still didnt see it.
But now that I am opening up I see the Father Wound.
I see both sides of the coin.
I suffer the sins of the father so that the son doesnt have to.