“How did interactions and observations of behavior in wider environments shame you, wound you, and force you into imprisoning your own ability to feel love?” Mothers, Sons & Lovers, by Michael Gurian
I kissed a boy that lived next door when I was around 10 years old. My dad found out somehow, but he never talked to me about it. One day I just wasn’t allowed to go over there any more. The fact that we never talked about it felt very shameful. At another friend’s house, when I was a little older, I “took advantage” of his younger sister. Even though it wasn’t sex it still felt very “dirty” and wrong. But his parents were both alcoholics and their family was very dysfunctional and had few boundaries. I never should have been in the position to hurt her. I feel like I need to just accept it, though. I covered this ground in Steps 4 and 5.
I also got bullied a LOT in junior high and high school. Being a white kid in Hawai’i didn’t help the fact that I was skinny and wasn’t able to play sports until I was ten for medical reasons.
Which, leaving the bullying for a minute, I now realize a little more just how much my surgery has always bothered me. I couldn’t play with other kids or get good at sports like them. By the time I was allowed to play, they all had four or five years of experience and had formed relationships with each other and with coaches. I feel like a part of me feels like a victim of my surgery, and a part of me resents my parents for going through what ultimately was cosmetic surgery. This series of events also feels like it has contributed to my sense of inadequacy, because while all the other boys played sports through elementary school, junior high, and high school, met girls, and got to participate in that “sporting fraternity”, I was stuck at home reading. I fucking hate that I grew up different than everyone else, that I had to be sheltered for so long, that I missed out on so much in life because of a stupid FUCKING LUMP in my head.
Who might I have been without that lump? How might my life have been different? Would I have had sex in high school? What college would I have gone to? Who would I have married? What would I do for a living? Knowing that it’s “in the past” doesn’t help. I guess I need to feel this anger and let it out, finally. Fuck you, Lump. Who’s kicking ass now?
Back to the bullies…they sucked. They picked me apart and made me feel worthless. The schools couldn’t or wouldn’t help me; neither did my dad. I’ve always resented him that. Thanks, Pop, for letting me live a scared life for six years. Fun times.
Author’s note: After journaling this entry I felt immensely better. If you find that you are struggling with anger and resentment, try journaling. You might be surprised (as I often am) at what comes out on paper and how much better you’ll feel afterwards.
How do you think the environment you grew up in might have shamed you or wounded you? What can you do to acknowledge the hurt of your past and move on?