A letter to the Vulnerable

They say that everything comes from the home.  They tell us that our past experiences help shape who we are as individuals in the present.  Like much of us, I had a less than grand childhood complete with a useless, neglectful biological father and the hateful, power-hungry stepfather.  My childhood, by all means, was not lifetime movie material, so why bore you with specifics?  However, I think having those past experiences with these two as “father figures” has definitely made its lasting mark on my personality.  I, of course,  anchored myself to my mother’s side and learned to stifle all emotion and thus my “resting b*tch face” was born.   Don’t get me wrong, I am one of the nicest, most hyperactive people you’ll meet, but I taught myself to conceal any form of weakness and to trust that nobody would stick around —that humans would always fail you.  I swallowed my vulnerability and prayed to God that it would never find its way out of the back door.

I could control my emotions like a light switch.  I took pride in being hard, cold, and emotionless when I had to be.  I remember my stepdad towering above me, throwing his man tantrum while he yelled in my face.  For once, I was unfazed.  I smiled internally as I stared him straight in the eye with my best blank face.  I’d hoped that my eyes were the emptiest he’d ever seen.  Noticing my expression, he yelled in my face..

           “YOU THINK YOU’RE HARD?!”

To which I replied…

           “Do you want me to be scared of you?”

Even at that young age, vulnerability was my worst enemy.  Its shows up, unexpectedly, with good intentions, but only brings feelings of shame, guilt, and weakness.  It results in a loss of power and control, which in turn is triggers me to rule my own body with the iron fist of abuse.

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