Growing up alongside a family that would rather beat me than give fond hugs, I've inevitably come to accept a few things.
I've accepted the things that I have, and some things I'll never have.
I've accepted that I have my friends, and my dogs. I have my fitness and my love for the arts. I have my job and a great boss, and I have my paychecks and the occasional gifts to spoil myself. I have my resilient personality, and I have pride in the fact that I have survived it all with my spirit still intact.
I've accepted that I'll never have a family to go back to when it's Christmas or Thanksgiving time. I'll never have the opportunity to post a loving picture on Instagram on Father or Mother's day. I'll never have the urge to talk about my childhood while others are happily reminiscing on theirs. I'll never have the courage to listen to the audio file that I secretly recorded while I was getting stomped on by my mother. I'll never have the heart to forgive myself for not calling the authorities. I'll never have a place in my heart for a family.
I think that reflections can help you better understand yourself. I think that hiding from yourself can never truly help you, since you will eventually be chased down - you know yourself best.
This is more of my reflections rather than "my story".
Just like recovery, acceptance is a process.
I don't ask for sympathy or empathy. Simply understanding, at the most.
Thank you for reading.