This morning at breakfast I noticed my husband Will’s hairline. Ever-so-slowly receding, it made me wonder how he will look when he’s in his 70’s. Handsome and distinct, I’d say.

Then my thoughts turned to my dad. He was bald ever since I can remember.  But he was nothing like Will; my dad’s heart, hidden by his heinous behavior. What a shame. What a treacherous turn for a soul bound for love at birth.

Last night I had a dream. It was more like a nightmare.

I awakened wishing I never knew you or the abuse you perpetuated with the assistance of my father, sister and everyone else with whom you so willingly shared your version of our interactions. Our story could never have ended well. Nightmares never do.

When I grow up I want to get old. But here's the thing - if growing up means not pranking people (that is my everyday passion!) and limiting my thoughts and activities to behaving like an adult, count me out. I am mischeivious, but predictably never boring. That's the only way I can live.

I am genuine and kind, and hope to never lose those qualities even when others fail to exhibit them. But life happens, and some get lost in the complexities and misfortunes that befall them. Me? I take my unfortunate past and wear it as my survival cloak. I no longer don my thorns; I wore them for years on my inside. I internalized the abuse at the hands of my parents. It felt so familiar and safe to punish myself emotionally- just like they did to me. Thankfully, those days are long gone. Daily I count my blessings. If that is a declaration of "grown up," I'll gladly take it!When I grow up I want to get old. But here's the thing - if growing up means not pranking people (that is my everyday passion!) and limiting my thoughts and activities to behaving like an adult, count me out. I am mischeivious, but predictably never boring. That's the only way I can live.

I am genuine and kind, and hope to never lose those qualities even when others fail to exhibit them. But life happens, and some get lost in the complexities and misfortunes that befall them. Me? I take my unfortunate past and wear it as my survival cloak. I no longer don my thorns; I wore them for years on my inside. I internalized the abuse at the hands of my parents. It felt so familiar and safe to punish myself emotionally- just like they did to me. Thankfully, those days are long gone. Daily I count my blessings. If that is a declaration of "grown up," I'll gladly take it!

Yesterday was monumental. I graduated from an eating disorders program.  Yes, it was my second stint at seeking to recover from this mental disorder. But this time was different. Of course, it was!

 This time the staff zeroed in on the reasons that were not identified during my first treatment there. Neither did I know nor understand the concept of self-care. I felt I did not deserve to honor myself.  As sad as it seems, I didn’t feel worthy of turning on the light when I went up the stairs in the dark. At treatment, I would remove everyone else’s lunch plates, “saving” mine for last. My every thought began with “I am not worthy.  Really, I don’t even matter at all.” Then, when I was fully depleted of anything left for myself, I binged on everything apart from my silverware and the plate. My mother trained me to believe I would never matter. In my mind, I might as well be as invisible as the hope I couldn’t see. My mother/abuser taught me well. Of course, she did.

I was born whole. Ten tiny toes and fingers. Just a little tuft of hair, a sweet little face with pursed lips. Born to be loved and learn to love. But what if the part about being held and nurtured didn’t happen? What if I were crushed like a fragile flower before it could bloom?

What went wrong?