Progress, perhaps....

As I continue to look back at my life to find my way forward I keep making discoveries. About not only myself, but about those who surrounded me in my youth. I have recently realized that both of my parents were narcissistic. Appearances rather than substance mattered to them. My mother failed to protect me from years of abuse that she admitted she was aware of. When I finally admitted to her my abuse at the hands of my father, she went into total and complete denial. I was alienated from the family that should have supported me. I lived my life ashamed of what I was, and what was done to me. When presented with the choice to provide me the care I needed to heal from my abuse, they chose to do nothing. Appearances preserved. They had to appear perfect to others no matter the cost.

I was never good enough. I was a liar, ostracized and somehow contaminated. This for telling the truth. I can not help but wonder how different I would be today, had someone, anyone believed me. However I can’t go back, only forward. Each day a struggle to believe in myself.

My relationships with men have reflected my childhood. Instead of caring, emotionally honest people I have been drawn to narcissist males every time. Each ending reinforcing the lesson that I was not good enough. Ever. I now see the signs, the red flags in people I meet. In the past they were beckoning, welcoming reminders that felt safe. I now realize they are warnings and I must avoid those people at all costs.

I have been overweight my entire life. I feel that if only I am large enough, unattractive enough then I will never again be subject to abuse. I was safe hidden from the world. A few years back I lost a large amount of weight and was at the thinnest I have ever been as an adult. My now ex husband made a comment about how good I looked and I went into a panic. I was attractive, vulnerable and terrified. One comment was all it took. I put the weight I had worked so hard to lose back on.

How to undo all this damage I do not know. For now I struggle on. Praying each day for the strength to just survive.

My grandmother always told me that God tests most those He Loves the best.

I sometimes wish He didn’t love me at all.

Then I remember how Christ suffered and died for me, and I feel ashamed.

I do not deserve the Gift of His Love.