Letting Go

Transfer is only a few days away now and I have a hard time getting excited for it.

All my doubts and fears are creeping in . Especially after the annual parental visit…

Now I worry that my negative thinking and lack of faith will come in the way of a successful transfer. Mind and body are so connected… There is actually a term for it: Nocebo.

Nocebo: “A detrimental effect on health produced by psychological factors such as negative expectations of treatment or prognosis.”

A big part of my fears are rooted deep inside and I need to let them out. Let go of my baggage. Let go of the past. Just LET GO.

The following are all the things I remember from my childhood that make me angry and upset. All the things that prevent me from having a normal relationship with my parents. All the things that worry me when I think of allowing them time with my future child.

Some of those things may seem insignificant. But as I was once told:

“Regardless of the magnitude of your struggle, you’re allowed to take care of yourself by processing and unloading some of the pain you carry.”

I remember.

I remember the day you told me I was a difficult baby. Always screaming. Never sleeping. Never eating. Because of me, you refused to have a third child. You once told me “If I had you first, I would not have had an other child”. I was young at the time. 10 at the most. How can you blame a baby so openly?

I remember all the times you said “Why can’t you be like your brother”; never accepting me for who I was; but instead reminding me of the disappointment I was. How am I to grow as a confident women when I was constantly reminded that I was not enough. That I was not worthy of love the way I was?

I remember the time you said “Your brother is bigger. His homework are more important than yours” and the 11 year old that I was had to explain to you that I couldn’t do anything about the fact that I was born 2 years after my brother. His homework were just as hard for him 2 years ago as they are for me today. Your child should not have to explain this to you…

I remember all the times you disciplined the both of us, slapping and spanking, to the point that we would cover our faces even before your hand was lifted as we knew what was coming.

I remember when you left me alone in a hotel room when I was just 5 years old, as you, dad and brother went to do some “quick” excursion while we were on vacation. Were you even concerned for my safety?

I remember when you told me about this day when I was very little and cried bloody murder all day to the point that you eventually took me to the hospital and were told I had a dislocated shoulder. Apparently lifting a child by pulling on one arm is not a great idea. But even if you didn’t know. Why did it take all day to realize? Did you just think “it’s the annoying crying child again who cries for no reason.”

I remember the trip to NYC when I was 8. You went to see the Empire State building with my brother and I stayed with my dad who found nothing better to do than to go to an “adult” store and ask me to wait in front of it while he was shopping. It was a pretty long wait. I stared at the covers of VHS for a while; not quite sure of what I was looking at. Then eventually we had to leave because customers were complaining that a child was in front of the store.

I remember the day I went swimming with you dad, in really cold waters. My young women body's showing I was cold. I remember you staring. I remember being very uncomfortable and crossing my arms over my chest.

I remember the day, like every Sunday, when I had to sit on your lap while you were on the phone chatting with your own dad. I tried to tell you that I didn’t have any underwear because there was no clean one left. You didn’t listen per usual and asked that I hurry and sit down as you were talking. The conversation went on till for some reason, your hand was in areas it should not have been at. Doing things it should’t be doing. I tried to make you stop. But you didn’t listen. I screamed and you realized what you were doing. Stopped. Hung up the phone. Put your head in your hands as I went on the couch away from you. And if that wasn’t enough, you yelled at me for not wearing underwear…

I remember all of it and it haunts me at times.

I used to worry that I would be a bad mother based on all I remember from my childhood.

But as I write these words and unload the pain, I realize that if anything, I will be a loving mother who knows how it feels to be rejected, neglected and dare I say abused.

I will love you unconditionally. I will be patient. I will protect you. I will make sure you feel loved for who you are.

I have thought many times to confront my parents. Frankly I don't think they know I remember all those things. Would it make any difference? Will I feel better? Am I just hoping for an apology?

What I'm really hoping for, is to let go.