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The birth of her.

Updated: Sep 14, 2022

I feel like a lot of stories begin at the beginning, so being the writing newbie that I am, I will follow suite.

I could sit here and rehash all the traumatic shit I have gone through as a child, pre-teen and adult but what a sad story that would be and honestly, I am not here to play on anyone's heart stings (or however the saying goes). I will, however, paint you a very vague picture of my childhood as I absolutely believe in the Nurture vs. Nature theory and what fun is learning about who someone is without a little bit of the nitty gritty, am I right?

I am the first born out of three, yay me (if you know, you know), and born a girl. Now, I am not going to go off on a tangent about woman's rights, equality and the disadvantages we woman have simply from being born a woman, because, lets face it, I could write about that all day long and I can already feel the anger and heaviness in my fingers as I bash upon my keyboard.

My mother was young when she had me and raised my brother, lets call him Pep, Pep and I mostly on her own, from what I can remember. We spent a lot of time at my Grandma's house as my mom was going to college. I remember spending many a times rummaging through my Grandma's snack cupboard looking for treats because mom wouldn't let us "eat that crap".

I remember the feeling of pushing myself up onto the counter and standing on my tiptoes just to reach those Peek Freans - Assorted Creme Cookies... you know the ones...and if you don't you haven't lived life my friend... that where strategically hidden at the back of the cupboard behind all the cans of vegetables.

I remember the smell of my Grandma's cooking, the way she would always give me head rubs that felt like legit angle hands where gracing my scalp with their gift from god. I remember I loved being at my Grandma's house. I sometimes wonder if I loved it so much because it was my safe place.

My father has not been in "the picture" since I was a little girl. Que the abandonment and trust issues (again, a story for another time). I wont get into details about this as it is not my story to tell but one thing I will share is that domestic abuse is not talked about enough and there is not nearly enough resources out there for victims and survivors of abuse.

You can find helpful links to local organizations below if you or someone you know is a victim or survivor of abuse.

"According to self-reported data from the 2014 General Social Survey on Victimization (GSS), one-third (33%) of Canadians aged 15 and older experienced some form of maltreatment during childhood. Child maltreatment includes physical and/or sexual abuse before the age of 15 by someone aged 18 or older, as well as witnessing violence by a parent or guardian against another adult."

Being without a "father figure" for years of my childhood really took affect on my future relationships with men. I never knew what a healthy, loving relationship looked like because I never had one to compare mine to.

I am lucky enough to have a step dad that filled some pretty big shoes and stepped into the parenting role, somewhat gracefully. However, I did not make life easy for the poor guy. I recall my bio dad telling me something along the lines of "You, your mom and your brother, Pep, will burn and rot in hell if your mom loves another man".

Now, being a child no older than 7, hearing this and now, writing it, makes me feel ill. I can feel that feeling again, the one I felt as a little girl. My chest is starting to get tight and I can feel all these abnormalities throughout my body but I do not have any images in my memory to link to the feelings which makes me think that I was conditioned to fear men or persuaded and coerced from a young age that a man showing affection is a bad thing and will cause me to end up rotting in the fiery depths of hell with my good friend, Satan.

So what did I do as a child in Elementary school? I waited for my step dad to come over and I would throw cutlery, dishes and anything else I could get my hands on, in his direction... specifically his face area. Demonic, right? But that little girl didn't want us all to burn and die in hell. I was just a child but I had this responsibility of making sure my mother and my brother wouldn't greet Satan with their presence anytime soon.

My hands are shaking as I type this, its amazing what the body can store and hold on to. My mom and my step dad got married and I couldn't believe it. How could she, my mother, risk us burning in hell all for this guy (sorry Dave!)? That is the defining moment our relationship became tarnished and to this day I am still working on forgiving my mother for something she never did.

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