Finding Strength In Walking Alone

Looking back on my life I realized that when I was younger I was stressed. I preferred to stay with my grandparents even though they were strict. It was a peaceful, quiet, slow, happy place. I would visit as much as my parents allowed.

Now don’t get me wrong I had a good childhood but as an adult you see things that you weren’t aware of as a child. Life with my parents was ball games after ball games with my brothers. I would ask if I could do something and the answer was no or there was no money. So instead of being bored to death I went to my grandparents house.

At home we always had chores before we could play. We always had to be busy doing something. Now carrying that into my adult life I realized that when I’m around my parents, even if I am drop dead exhausted, I do something. I cannot relax, I am looking busy.

Backing up to my grandparents and how much time I spent with them, I am completely different then my parents and siblings. After my grandparents passed away I felt like I never fit in. I never belong. With my morals, beliefs, and standards... these people are strange to me.

My brothers are crude with their comments, they know everything, they are better, they have to have better, they butt in your business to dissect it and point out your bad points, and worse... they are entitled. Their kids, worse. I always thought highly of my sister in law but a while back she was behaving like the female version of my brother. My mom is spoiled. It’s her way or the highway. She is sneaky and at times she turns us against each other. In the past I used to feel bad for her. Especially when she was thinking of divorce. I even encouraged her to look into it. Now that I’m older I see different. My father, where to begin? He grew up poor. He stole and bragged about it. He had to be the best even back then. According to his stories he was the best child, the best athlete, everyone wanted to adopt him, the best employee, the best engineer. He did no wrong. He fought men in the street and bragged about it. He had no father so he grew up bitter. That might explain why at times he was never kind with words. He was one of those people that were all about appearances. We were the perfect family, with the perfect life.

I never knew what narcissism was until maybe five or six years ago. I’m always reading self help books. Trying to fix what was wrong with me or to feel better. If I complained or tried to talk, the issue was always me. I’m wrong. Period. When you’re in a family of headstrong men they are never at fault. To this date I have never heard the words “I’m sorry” from any of them.

Self help books, always reading, always learning. Breaking generational curses. Fighting to build boundaries and do I mean fighting. Feeling so isolated, and lonely. I got to the point that I felt like I was constantly being bashed. I even confided to a friend that just couldn’t wait to tell my family what I said. Me, I’m wrong again. At that point I welcomed isolation. Coronavirus. Seeing family less. Always staying in my room. Not because I was avoiding or depressed but because it was peaceful. Still reading self help books.

This past year of staying home and not having to feel busy out of stress, I learned what my family is, who I am, and guess what? There’s nothing wrong with me. Growing up I had the saving grace of my grandparents. I don’t have problems with me. I’m giving. I cry when others hurt. I’m genuine. I wear my heart on my sleeve. However, because of my entire life of fighting I’m not a pushover. The saving grace of growing up with my family, I had the strength to either set boundaries or push people entirely away. I have learned so much about myself that I like me just the way that I am!

If you like this, could relate,want to read about the blood, sweat and tears I went through, the hoops I had to jump through, and are curious about more...please follow me.