“If you do not tell the truth about yourself you cannot tell it about other people.”
Virginia Woolf
As a child who has been abused, our truth changes before we can really grasp our real truth, our innocence is stolen and in its place sits responsibility and guilt, shame and embarrassment, confusion.
This mountain of confusion become our ‘natural’ state inside, it is all we have ever known, especially if the abuse began at a very early age.
It is our truth of who we are. We can’t see ourselves without the aroma of abuse.
That flavor saturates our every pore, there is no part of ourselves that we feel is good or untouched and innocent.
I had to work harder, be more responsible, carry others, and strive to be overly good, just to be able to hold my head up. I alone, all by myself, was never good enough; I was a mess and I had to cover up.
Ashamed embarrassed crumpled mess inside, forever having to make it look better, is like adding lace and bows to a worn out stained t-shirt and calling it a party dress.
It was when I stopped trying to fix it, that the whole mess righted itself.
I stood in the truth of who I was. I was an abused girl a wreck and a mess. I then had the first glimpse of my innocence.
When I seen myself as being innocent, a flip happened and the responsibility flopped back onto my parents where it has rightly belonged.
When no one stood by me and proclaimed my innocence, yet worked harder for him to keep his, we switched identities.
Little did you know you were transferring his bucket of filth into the child, while taking our innocence and draping it over his filth.
The truth lay beneath, untouched.
I finally made the transfer back. I gave him back his bucket of filth I have been carrying around inside of me.
I can never undo the abuse, or the toll it took on my life, but I have my own life back, my own reality, my own truth, and for that I am very grateful.
Cleansed and free inside of me the truth echoes loudly in peace.
I M Perfect lady 