Is it still a sacrifice if it was taken from you?
I spent a long time growing up as the “good child”, doing all the things my abuser wanted of me, often putting me, unwillingly, in the middle of disagreements between him and my mother. I felt like a punching bag, literally – swinging back and forth between them, stupidly looking for love from someone, still. No such luck. I was cursed to be a pawn in my fathers’ mind games until I physically separated myself from him and his influence in 2016, when I moved away to attend graduate school. After 22 years of my life spent surviving under the brutal authoritarian dictator, I had to reorient myself to life away from the constant manipulation and lying. It would prove to be an almost lethal process.
What did I sacrifice?
After moving to the tiny state of Rhode Island, I knew absolutely no one. I sacrificed the familiarity of family – in particular the company of my siblings whom I cherish with all my heart – to start a new life for myself. I took the opportunity to attend Brown University, excited at the prospect of being surrounded by such brilliance. Little did I know that the department of neuroscience would be isolating, especially as one of the only black people in a department of 60+ people. The lack of infrastructure to support those of us without familial support took its toll on me in my second year when I sunk in to a deep depression, for which I was hospitalized a handful of times for. I sacrificed my sanity and wellbeing to start a new life that I was miserable in. Only today, on the other side, do I feel ok with the life I am creating for myself. It’s a life full of self care, self compassion and being gentle with myself when I need it. I’m not afraid to go home and when I arrive home, I am at peace. My orange tabby is at peace (if not hungrily screaming his displeasure the moment I walk in the door.) I feel safe enough for sleep.
A worthy sacrifice?
I didn’t get a childhood. I was a parent to my parents constantly, always having to be the bigger person in the face of their immaturity. I raised my youngest siblings with the help of my oldest younger sister. No one raised me so now I must do it for myself. That process of learning has been eye opening, painful and rewarding. Would I sacrifice my childhood again? Yes, any moment of any day, because my presence meant my siblings didn’t face the wrath I did. We were all objectified but at least we were together. Leaving home gave me the space and time to heal from years and years of abuse and coercive control. I would go through the loneliness and heartache again because being away allowed my mother a temporary refuge (when she came to stay with me and I was her caregiver). While my depression is debilitating, I grew tremendously during the process of deconstructing old lies and rebuilding with truth. The abuser inside my head has subsided and I finally feel free.
What are your thoughts? We want to know!