Looking for the Light

Today's post is going to have a somewhat serious tone.

Yesterday was a difficult day. My moods throughout the days and even hours have ups and downs; nothing extreme, but when it comes to trauma, even the smallest thing can trigger what I like to call an "attack".
I learned through a beautiful book that trauma is actually based around the nervous system rather than anything psychological. It's an actual physical reaction. Knowing that in itself has already helped me and helped me (slightly) realize that I'm not actually crazy. This is something that I genuinely can't help, but I'm going to try and fix it, or at least learn to cope with it in healthier ways.

This past Monday, I saw a new therapist. I have been battling to stick with a therapist that works for me for over five years (I'll go into that later), so I'm hoping this one actually works out. He is a male counselor which was quite difficult to accept because I have not had good experiences with male therapists in the past. However, he was warm, inviting, and I actually felt safe with him. We got to talking about my family life; my dad left my mom when I was seven and my brother was three, and since he is an LMFT (Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist), he took a great interest in my relationship with my father. This ended up leading to a question I have never been asked before, "Do you think your dad loved you?"

Now here I am two days later and I can't get that thought out of my head. It's become difficult to function.

I don't remember much of my dad when he lived with us. In fact, there are three distinct memories I have of my dad when I was super young, and none of them are good.

Then, one year, when I was seven years old, my mom took my brother and me on a trip to see some of her friends on the other side of the state. I think we were there for about a week, maybe not that long, but I remember coming home in the early evening one day. The memories that followed that were me, staring at our old, blocky telephone, my dad and mom saying he was going to be living somewhere else, and then waking up the next morning, hiding behind our big computer desk, listening to my mom cry on the phone to my grandmother. That's it. I don't remember my dad leaving, I don't remember anything that was said, just one day he was there, and the next he wasn't.

However, there was one thought I distinctly remember having, shortly after my dad told us he was leaving, "Dad won't leave. He can't leave. That's not what parents do."

It took me 19 years to realize that it was at that exact moment, that my innocence was taken away from me and my entire world was changed forever.

When you're a child, everything is so new and fascinating and beautiful and perfect. Your parents are these strong, protective figures that can't get hurt or do anything wrong or even be sad. They aren't people, they're superheros. They're your parents and they'll keep everything okay forever.

But what happens when one parent hurts the other? My dad had an affair behind my mom's back. I'm not looking for sympathy, that's just simply the way it went, unfortunately, it's not that uncommon anymore. And who knows if it was only with one person. My mom has told me some questionable things, but never elaborated, probably thinking that the less I know, the better. In a sense, that's true, but my view on my dad (and my mom, too, for that matter) is completely skewed and shattered regardless.

Growing up with my dad in my life caused much more stress than a normal child should have. My mother ended up leaning on me for support because I'm her daughter and the older of her two children. I lost my childhood at seven years old; I had to grow up and take on responsibilities that most children shouldn't have and that has followed me into my current life now. I've suppressed this pain for 19 years and it's finally showing itself again at almost 27 years old.

There will be more elaboration on it later, without going too much into personal things.

But even though I'm in one of my worst states currently, thanks to my new therapist, I now know there is a light at the end of this very dark, very long tunnel. I read stories about people who I can imagine have been in the same types of mentalities as myself, but they've gotten out of it. I know it's possible. And this is the first step in my healing process and in the words of my therapist, "It won't be easy, it won't be fun, it won't take only two sessions to fix, but it also won't take years, and this. Is. Doable."

The light is there. It's a itty bitty little dot the size of a grain of salt, but it's there. And for those who are also going through suffering or dealing with trauma, I know you'll find it too.