I didn’t realise how much a weight I was carrying until I let go of shame and guilt.
Guilt for arguing with my mum in the months before she died.
Guilt for being angry at her for dying.
Guilt for being manipulated into having an abortion.
Guilt for having a baby two years later.
Guilt for not loving my baby straight away.
Guilt for loving the second one instantly.
Guilt for working while they were little.
Guilt for splitting up with their dad.
Guilt for quitting work to study.
Guilt for not being able to afford expensive Christmas presents.
Guilt for dating again.
Guilt for enjoying myself in the absence of my children.
Guilt for having a life.
Guilt for being happy.
And the shame was an added “bonus”. But I’ve listened to countless Brené Brown talks. I’ve hyperventilated while telling a counsellor about rape. I’ve pushed myself to tell my partner about my past (I was convinced he wouldn’t love me if he knew, but that was anxiety telling me lies). I’ve apologised to friends for my funky energy and expressed how much I needed change. I’ve finally written my story into a manuscript. I’ve stood up to the narcissist. I’ve identified and let go of bad habits. I told my manager about my mental health. I’ve cried when I’ve needed to. I’ve cancelled plans with others. I’ve kept promises to myself.
And while I am by no means a perfect person, or someone who has even half of their shit together, I am trying my best to heal.
And it’s not even that I’m sad or my life now is shit, because that is far from the truth.
But my Inner Child suffered in silence for years, suffocated with shame, frozen out with guilt, and I’m doing what I can to give her the love she’s needed all this time.
Shame doesn’t live here anymore ❤