I've Been Your Clown

Dear Obligations,

I'm moving on and I'm pulling out.

Out of demoralizing diabolical emotional jails, old paradigms, toxic twists, and negative, corrosive dysfunctional fists.

I'm stepping down regardless of my scapegoat shiny crown. I'm cutting my negative family ties and obligated duties that no one, ever, would wanna buy!

I'm not bound to being spoken to, as if I'm some naughty little child. It's on you if you wish to continue telling one another I'm being hurtful, because of my departure from this role.

And maybe you are hurt, and I am genuinely sorry for that, but have you contemplated why you're being triggered by my absence? If you don't want to go there, then maybe your hurt is a bit, you know—topsy turvy projection? As in, not respecting or validating what's going on for me.

I did explain nicely.

Maybe it’s unconscious, just so that you don’t have to dig too deep into where your own pain resides; hidden behind your successes, your holidays, your big cars, your careers, your—looking at my flaws, and yes, your religiosity, dear mother!

But I know it’s there—the projection because I’ve been privy to how you perceive your world; not just by how hurt you get if you're not validated by what I can do for you. You know, like those obligated seasonal gifts I've been too anxious to not send.

I’ve quit sending those. For now.

I've witnessed how you talk about each other, behind their backs, or even how hurt you’ve been by your own friends. Did you ever try and consider where that hurt was coming from? Would you ever acknowledge there's something deeper going on for you too?

And I understand it's hard to see, as it took my own self-awareness, some years to emerge.

But for far too long now, you have shamed me, shouted at me, cursed me (literally), sworn at me and gossiped about my crazy ass, mostly behind my face.

And even though I explained to you my mental health, and circumstances, you just can’t seem to grasp how hard I’ve tried to be respected by you. Accepted for who I am, and how I got to be who I was, because of our past.

And at least, at last, I'm saying NO to those wounds. As well as to you.

When I truly needed you—when life had punched me down, you spoke to me like shit and reminded me of all my past fuck ups. As if I needed that! We became trapped into a heated email argument, and I can’t believe how wretched you made me feel that day, as I kept trying to reach for your love.

I didn’t sign up for that, mum!

I stopped speaking to you for a while, but hey, you’re my mother and so it was hard to push you out forever. But now, when I became homeless, and you told me God will curse me, as well as add the curse of my father on my head. All because I wasn’t married, in the eyes of God—to my boyfriend.

Well, you’re banned for life.

I didn't sign up to be spoken to, like that. Especially by the person who calls herself my mother.

All that time, I took your curses on board and felt full of dread for my life. Did the 'curses' do that!

I was upset, so I called another one of you up, to chat about how her words messed with my head.

Big sis, I agree, I didn’t make much sense, but I was feeling frightened from mum's condemning words. When I came to visit you the following week or so, you told me that our conversation that night had, "...done your fucking head in!"

I laughed, as I didn’t know what else to say. And plus, that’s the character I've always had to play, when I'm with you guys. The fool.

I AM done with all of that.

I’m not obligated to have to fit into your opinion of me. And yeah, I’m eternally grateful how you saved me many times, when I was homeless. Our mother was never maternal, for sure.

But I'm taking the trouble to say, NO, nowadays. It feels unusual doesn't it, me—telling you—what I feel about YOU!

I don't want to be part of that judgy thing everyone does about each other; That energy stinks.

I've backed off for some time now so I can create lines in the sand. I've been building tall fences and ripping up family contracts. You know—the ones that required me to blindly accept family bullshit and abuse, because it is: 'just how it is'.

No, it isn't just how it is. It isn't that anymore.

I'm erecting boundaries of self-love and self-compassion. I want to really know that I know that: I'm enough.

I am resigning from the role of the scapegoat, the sibling, and the daughter who doesn't happen to own a house, a car or even a new coat.

There was a life, I agree—paved with self-destruction and calamitous car crash hell; that was a life I'd allowed my wounds to dangerously cast unconscious disastrous wicked spells.

But I realise, no matter how long it took for me to unpack my emotional injuries, and work through rebuilding my identity, I have now seen the truth: our past paradigms are riddled with dysfunction and toxicity.

There are no more doors I'll willingly open to your manipulation. I know you've tried, and yes, in public—in the middle of a family group chat. But I saw it for what it was: a little bit of your own inner child wound mixed with a little bit of the good old Narc.

I can’t be who you want me to be. And let’s be honest—you don't even know the real me. I’m not that child anymore. I’m not that fucked up person.

It's true, none of us signed up to be as sensitive and hurt as we’ve all been in our lives. But in the unpacking of my own trauma, and visiting those dark places, I categorically know I have to step away from those old familiar patterns of our family's criticizing and judgements, that kept me wearing the scapegoat crown.

Yours

Chantal

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