For most of my
life, you’ve been by my side. A quiet
whisper in my ear. Like a part of my
shadow, you were there as I navigated through the decades. Where did you come from? When did you appear? And why?
I look back at
my earliest memories and remember a happy, energetic, inquisitive girl. Eager to try new things, make new friends,
almost fearless at times. She wanted to
belong. That little girl would be one of the first to volunteer, was willing to
share and even brave enough to volunteer to read a poem by herself at a school
assembly. She tried her best even though
sitting still and paying attention was hard.
She wanted to do well. She tried
so hard to read letters and numbers. She
wanted to make her parents proud. She
had an imagination. She loved to
create. She loved to play. She was a
child. But you were not there.
I feel a
sadness wash over me as I continue to reminisce. The torment she endured, the cruelty, the
names echo through my memories. Those
words hurt that little girl more than the bruises left on her body. Punched and prodded, slapped and spit on. Held down, hit with hockey sticks. Kicked, stomped, strangled. Going to school was like walking through a
mine field for her and her brother each day.
The vitriol, like
black tendrils spread beyond school reaching into other corners of her
life. Sunday school, Brownies, sports,
even playing at the park she was not safe.
She tried to forgive, forget, just keep smiling through it all. But that didn’t change a thing. She went to friends, to parents, to adults, to
teachers asking for help but it just continued.
Judgement. Dismissal. Blame. No sense
of support nor protection.
No part of her
was immune to the poison spewn her way. Intelligence, abilities, clothes, hair, weight,
looks. Back in those days, bullying
wasn’t acknowledged like it is today.
Responsibility to rectify it was placed on the child – the victim. The only assistance would be advice to try
different approaches, to not let it bother her.
Yet, no matter how much she was rejected, she still she craved for
acceptance.
Such anguish
for an impressionable child to endure. Gradually it chipped away at the essence
of this little girl. Venomous words,
insulting names - branded, burned into her very core. She felt unworthy, defeated. That was when you started to appear. My inner critic.
As this girl
approached teens, her trust and naivety were gradually replaced with skepticism
and insecurity. When she started to blossom,
there were boys who thought it funny not only to pull bra straps, but to grab
and man-handle her, to humiliate her.
She felt ashamed. Dirty. Ugly. Unlovable.
With self-worth
depleted, she started to question everything. What was the point of trying, of
wanting, of learning – only to feel like a failure. Why try to partake in activities – only to be
left out, the last one chosen. She was
not good enough, not worthy. Defeat was
reflected in her grades, her activities – lackluster – like her confidence. You were there whispering in her ear.
As her naivety dissolved;
stronger, more protective qualities evolved.
She wanted to remove this need for acceptance, love, validation. You were there. The constant reminder. Whispering.
Quashing goals. Crushing dreams. Reminding
her of what she was worthy of – and what she wasn’t. Molding her. Your whisper grew. Louder and louder until she couldn’t hear
anything but you. You were an integral part of creating this outer shell. Defiance. Rebellion. Self-harm. Anger.
Deception.
As she
approached adulthood, your influence had affected her greatly. Choices and
experiences derived from you. But a
surprising thing started to happen as the years, as the decades went by. Another voice emerged. A whisper. Familiar. An inner voice, her
essence. Once thought so badly scarred
that it would never heal or never grow. Quietly
fed with remnants of heartbreak and hardships.
Nurtured by maturity, by motherhood.
As this whisper got louder, your voice became a whisper. The two teetering like a seesaw. Back and forth – her very essence and her inner
critic.
The wrinkles of
time show on her face. The years of worry sparkle through her hair. A half century of experiences, of evolution;
of reflection; of realization. I know you – my inner critic. I know where you came from and when you
appeared. But most importantly, I understand
why you appeared. I understand you grew
from a need. A need for protection. A
warning to the little girl who once was.
I understand that you didn’t know how to protect her but tried. Attempts of cautionary tales, but not knowing
how or what to say, so you repeated the vitriol. I understand.
But the little
girl is no longer. She grew up. She doesn’t need protection anymore. You, my inner critic, have done your
job. You have contributed to making her
into a strong woman. I am that result. Because of you I have a multitude of
experiences, both good and bad. I have
loved and have lost. I have endured and
have excelled. All which made me who I
am today. I thank you for your
contributions, for what you tried to do; but ask for you to be silent. Trust in who I am. Let me be free. It’s time.
It’s time for
me to be free. To explore, to experience
with no inhibitions. It’s time to realize
my abilities without apprehensions. To
ride the winds of wonder with excitement.
Let me realize my capabilities, let me be complete. Please let me be
free. Let me be me.
