I cannot (still, will not)
pretend I didn’t
anticipate, dress and wait
by windows in late-morning light,
dread and delight learning
early to curl into each other, white
tights not yet unclean,
back
(behind)
to the wall, resigned to
calculate the price
for which I’d sold my
right to be my own.
How does shame manifest for you?
What is the opposite of shame?
In what ways have you taught yourself to overcome shame?
It was tempting to stay at the surface; I wanted to turn away, to focus on body image struggles over the years (now too, who am I kidding?), or the deep sense of failure at how body and brain are collapsing under the decades-old fire of fight/flight wiring that’s finally burning itself (and me) out, and wondering whether what’s left will have (has) any value.
See? A lot in there. But.
Children are sexually assaulted by family members in countless ways, and the shame of loving the person who hurt you, of having sought their love, is… I don’t have a word for it. And because the behavior was sanctioned, open, seen by all, encouraged – because I was shamed for being (over)sensitive, for not catering to his twisted needs, for having a body that didn’t deserve its own space (because it took up too much? is that possible?) – even typing “sexually assaulted” is a challenge, still. Is that the word for this?
I don’t have a word for the filth of the hug I owed as thanks for this gift or that, knowing his hands would squeeze and pinch and grab, the child willing to tolerate, not only because she wanted the toy or the doll, but because she was told it was all just his form of love.
Knowing contempt and anger were the only form of love I deserved.
I have to forgive her, forgive me (is the opposite of shame “resilience”? the phrase needs examination). Because I’m still holding back from receiving the love that’s downstairs from me right now, no strings, no anger, no price point. Just relentlessly unconditional, and a safety that’s still too frightening to accept.
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