Healing the Wounds of Childhood

She has always been a pioneer for women. For as long as I can remember and long before that, she was setting standards within the teaching field. Women were teaching but men were running the show. That was until she started getting involved.

I don’t think my sister and I truly realized at the time, that she was someone making a difference for women. She started teaching in the ’60s when men were still controlling a great deal in all areas of school districts. She chose to work in special education. It was an area she believed needed the most change.

Of course, I always remember her as single and actively involved with school groups, committees, and other programs. She held her own in any room of men. My aunt was well-versed and smarter than most of them.

In time, things would change for her. And, until the day I found her little black book, I had no idea of her internal pain or the journey she had been struggling with inside or how she turned it around to kick ass in the teaching field.

My mother, a strong woman herself, made mistakes along the way. For her, life was rerouted by those mistakes. She got pregnant with me at a young age. Back then, most parents forced the kids to get married. My father’s parents were Southern Missionary Baptist and my mother’s parents were Christian too. Talk about some unhappy wedding photos.

That marriage was short-lived. A true blessing for all of us. I have always said, their divorce is the best gift they ever gave me. My mother soon fell in love and married my stepfather. He was handsome, outgoing, alcoholic, and abusive. However, she was head over heels in love with this man.

They were from a tiny farm town. My mother’s family had a big farm on the “right” side of the tracks and her new husband’s family lived “in town” on the “wrong” side of the tracks. Her parents hated him. However, she was determined to make her marriage work.

He was an oil rigger. We followed the work through the midwest with him. It was kind of cool because our cousins did too. Our families moved all around. The only downfall was when my mother and stepfather were arguing.

Fast forward, I am around seven years old and my sister is three years old. After four years of working hard to make it work, mom has reached out to my aunt for help. My aunt has brought us to live with her in the “big city” to get away from my stepdad.

Here in the city, my mom gets her strength back. She is one of the strongest women I know. That strength starts with my great-grandmother, then my grandmother, down to my aunts, and my mom. A family of powerful, badass women.

She gained her strength back because my aunt believed in her and helped her find her way back. Not only that, my mom got her GED and her nursing degree. After that, she raised two strong women by herself without any help from either father.

As I mentioned before, my grandparents had a farm. They had five children. Of those five children, the first went to college, my aunt the teacher, and the last went to college, my uncle the businessman. In between, my other uncle helped my grandfather run the farm. My other aunt married young and had kids. Although, in time, she divorced, and like my mother, found her strength, got her nursing degree, and kicked some ass as well.

Fast forward again. My aunt, the teacher, long since retired is being moved to an assisted living facility. She went from a leader to an out-of-control hoarder. The hoarding is so bad it is destroying her once beautiful home. It is now up to us to go through her belongings and clean up the house.

Her entire house is stacked full of junk. You literally have to walk through pathways. Some of the rooms are out of reach, the hoarding is so bad. About ten years ago she had started a remodeling project. She and the contractor got into an argument. He left without finishing her kitchen. To this day, the kitchen does not have a working sink or stove.

In her basement, stacked against a wall are thirteen briefcases. Who needs thirteen briefcases? The house has a two-car garage but it is full of items she has bought and stored in there. All brand new, still boxed up.

Off the family room is a small area. As a kid, this was one of my favorite places in the house. We spent hours playing in this small space. We made this space was anything we wanted to make it. Now, it is another messy storage area.

As I am going through things, I notice a small space behind the filing cabinet. It is like a tiny closet. Unless you are actually paying attention you wouldn’t even see it. I move things around to get into that space and find an old tin box.

Inside the box are things my aunt kept from her childhood. Among those is a little black book. When I open the book, I see she used it to write down her fears, dreams, goals, and plans. Reading through, things weren’t easy for her as a little girl.

She was different. Kids picked on her and adults didn’t understand her. Of course, she was determined to make a difference and not be part of the herd. It is then she made up her mind to achieve her dream of becoming a teacher. To leave the little farm community and help others who were different.

In her little black book is her plan to attend college, move to the big city, and be an independent woman. Of course, she achieved all of those. Not only that, she helped many others by providing stipends for them to attend college.

My aunt still struggled with her issues, including overeating and the health issues that come with obesity. After she retired, she was at home, alone a great deal. She did volunteer at places, still did some tutoring, and helped out at her church while she was still healthy.

As her health deteriorated, those internal wounds from her youth started to rear their ugly head. Being a kid from the depression era, she always had backup supplies of items. With her mental health and issues showing up, that habit of backup supplies became hoarding. And, it was not just necessities. Now, it was useless junk too.

All that she had accomplished and those childhood wounds were still inside her. They had been waiting for their opportunity to show up again. Festering and growing stronger. Instead of facing them head-on, she had become this powerhouse of a woman. Changing the lives of countless people but not healing her own demons.

Now, in her old age, the wounds are torn open, ready to do damage and destroy her beautiful home, taking it away from her. You see, if the home had been in better shape, she would have been able to stay there longer. However, because the hoarding had caused so much damage to the property, the health department made her leave.

My aunt has taught me I can accomplish anything. All the work she did to help others is amazing. She is an amazing human being. Her hard work and determination have changed the lives of so many. Sadly, she did not do the internal work necessary for her own healing.

We must face our demons and old wounds from childhood, not bury them inside us. If we do not face them head-on, they will continue to fester. Sitting patiently, waiting to pounce and destroy any progress we have made. My aunt’s little black book has taught me it is imperative to heal those childhood wounds to have a long, healthy life.