When You Are A Little Girl…

When you are a  little girl, you are told that ladies do this and do not do that.  Ladies wear dresses, but your mom never did.  Ladies are quiet, but your mom yelled, and even her calm voice was loud.  Ladies were polite and used their manners, but your mom’s language was vile, and “bitch’ was her word of choice for you and every other woman.  

When you were a little girl, you were dressed like a doll, wearing crinoline under dresses that itched and lacey socks with patent leather shoes. You were scolded for getting dirty, yet all you wanted to do was wear clothes that were soft and run free.  What you wanted never mattered, and what they wanted always did.  

When you are a little girl, you hurt and cried. That was complaining, so you learned to be quiet. “We have given you everything, you have nothing to be sad about.”  Because “things” measured value.  “Things” were what showed others how important we were.  My home life was spent maintaining the looks for the world, and inside, the weeds grew, not only inside of me but inside of every person in our family.

When you are a little girl, you want the love and approval of your mom, so you do what she says, and if you do it well, she will say, “That is not enough. Do more.” You anticipate every need, every facial expression, every craving. “Will she want cookies tonight?” Do not eat the last cookie because if she wants it and it is gone, you are in trouble. You are fat and a hog. Who calls their daughter a hog?

When you are a little girl, you want to know who you are, and you daydream of the worlds that you create in your mind, worlds of bright colors, people laughing, unicorns, and a place where everywhere you go there is love and hope. In those worlds, you know who you are, and your confidence is never questioned. Your heart never hurts. You can slip into these worlds so quickly and quietly that nobody knows you are gone.

When you are a little girl, you come back to reality with a shriek of your name. She puffs her cigarette and the stale smell of smoke makes you sick to your stomach.  Your eyes focus on the room in front of you with the dark paneled walls and a layer of smoke that if you squint just enough, looks like a black-and-white movie. There is no brightness, not in the room, not in the tone of people speaking to one another, not even in a hug because they were not given. 

When you are a little girl, they tell you who you are, and you believe it.  You love them, and you do not question them. Not to their faces.  When you are alone, you are not ugly.  When you are alone, you are not driving anyone crazy. When you are alone, you are not fat, and the hunger you feel is for love, not food.  When you are alone, you can hear your voice. Your voice is strong, and it tells you it will all be okay one day.  It will all be okay.

When you are a little girl, you dream, you wish, and you discover until someone tells you “no’. “Stop being so stupid. Stop being so unrealistic. Stop being so dramatic.” Dreaming is fun, but the world that you live in is not. That world is noisynoisy, with my mother making up the rules and  changing them every day depending on how she feels.  The world you are asked to live in does not make sense.  You do not fit in this world.  You do not fit in this family. 

When you are a little girl, you realize something is wrong with you. If it weren’t for you, she wouldn’t get mad.  If it weren’t for you, she wouldn’t have to do what she does.  If it weren’t for you, he wouldn’t have touched you that way repeatedly as a little girl.  If it weren’t for you being you, our lives would be so much easier.

When you are a little girl, you shrink to what they want to make it peaceful. You become small.  You do not feed the hunger in your body and soul.  The body that desperately needs food and the soul that desperately needs love. You abandon yourself to become theirs when you never had a chance to belong to yourself.  You slowly wither physically and mentally until your existence does not matter to you or even to them.  

As you become a woman, you protect that little girl. Your coping mechanisms are hard layers to protect her and keep her safe.  She hides in you, scared, hurt, alone, and afraid. She remembers but can not articulate the terror, pain, and isolation.

As you become a woman, you protect that little girl.  You use sarcasm to mask how much you hate yourself.  You make a joke about yourself before others can.  If you go first, you have control.  

As you become a woman, you protect that little girl. You eat to fill her emptiness. You throw it up to fit the mold. You get a high from feeling full but emptiness is what you know, so you throw up until the veins burst in your eyes. I will be pretty. I will be skinny. In your headhead, you know you are not enough, and neither is the girl you are protecting. You can’t control yourself with food at times, and instead of examining why, it’s easy to tell yourself it’s because, once again, you don’t measure up.

As you become a woman, you protect that little girl. You give yourself to men before they can take from you. You give them what you know they want because you have been taught this from a young age. Smile and be a good girl, just like that.

As you become a woman, you protect that little girl. You give of yourself to prove your worth until you have nothing left, and then you give some more. Say yes to make them happy. Anticipate their needs. Do not say no because that will not stop them anyway. Making others happy should make you happy. This is what you have been taught. This makes you feel good.

As you become a woman, you protect that little girl.  You hurt yourself so others can’t.  You slice and burn yourself so that the pain that you feel inside of you is released, but YOU ARE IN CONTROL of it. It comes from you, and that pain feels better than the pain that is heaped upon you by others.

As you become a woman, you protect that little girl.  You put layers around her to protect her from further harm, but those layers that you used to shield her begin to harm the woman that you have become. Those layers keep you from experiencing health—healthy thinking, healthy decisions, and healthy relationships.  

You look in the mirror, and you see waste. The waste is from years of self-hatred that began with others, and you are still carrying it. You now see the lies told to you by others, projected from their pain, and you carried those with you, too.  You see the secrets that you kept for others so that they could live free, but you lived in the cage of their deceit.  You carried their shame and yours for years and decades. The woman that you see is tired. Her soul is heavy. She can’t carry it anymore.

Will you follow the “shoulds” you were told were supposed to be? Or will you ask:

You ask, and you answer. You speak up. You ask for help. You begin to tell parts of your story, but not all of it—only the parts others can handle, the PG version. You break it open and let it bleed. You let it burn and hurt. You feel the rage, and you own every part of it.

• What could I be?
• What could I become?
• What is the most important?
• Do I matter?
• Could I matter?
• Could I belong?
• Could I be healthy physically and mentally?

You go into the darkest parts of your soul to find the little girl, crouched in the darkness, scared, hiding, and alone. You reach out your hand and tell her its okay. She is safe now. You walk her home and tell her how brave she was. You hold her hand and vow to live the life she always wanted.

You then have to change your thinking and actions that you have known since childhood. There is no more blame. The victim stands as the victor. The layers are gone, and you are exposed, vulnerable, raw, and tired. This new way is hard and difficult to embrace. It is a mental fight that only survivors can know, and you no longer have to explain. As you unlearn and relearn, you see your part in this, but you also see theirs. You will never get the apology you craved, but you do not need it. 

You learned, discovered, and healed in silence to protect a family that never protected you. You realize that horror and tragedy are part of the human experience. The human experience involves speaking up, facing pain, overcoming pain, being undone by pain, and learning how to help others through their pain. There is tragedy, but it is good. You own your life. You are now and always will be free.