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Mother

The author of my scars

By Susan GainesPublished 2 months ago 3 min read
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Mother
Photo by Žygimantas Dukauskas on Unsplash

So much of who we are is tied up in the word “mother.” The one who gave us life. The one who loved us first. The one who met our needs encouraged us, and helped us thrive. Why is it that the ties that bind are even tighter when “mother” only gave us life and left out the rest?

As a child, it is impossible to understand why you are not loved by the very person who gave birth to you. Why instead of love you are raised on a diet of physical and emotional abuse. Why no matter what you do, what you say, or how you act, earning that maternal love is never an option. What could you have done so terribly as a small child to be so deserving of her unrelenting anger.

As you age, you think it will not bother you. Once you are grown, you will leave that life behind and none of it will matter. You will be an adult; your own person; and her lack of love will be meaningless. Until you find yourself in failed relationship after failed relationship. Until you begin to own the fact that you truly must have been born unlovable. Until you begin to question whether the monster that was your mother was really a monster or has the problem been you all along.

Then, one day, in the very broken, lonely, dark vestiges of your heart you hear the tiniest voice asking, “what if WE loved us?” What a novel idea. How do we begin? Is it even possible? Nobody else has ever loved us, what if we really are unlovable? Then that tiny voice asks “But what if we were MADE for love?”

So, a journey begins. A journey that lasts many years. A journey of valleys and mountains; twists and turns; and highs and lows. A journey that provided far more answers than the final destination could provide. I learned lessons, healed wounds, and found out who I really am.

I am an amazing human. I am full of love and I am worthy of being loved. I am kind, compassionate, and giving, I love others with the fullness of a heart that has never been broken even though mine has been shattered and pieced back together time and again. I’ve learned that the cracks are where the light gets in and how the love flows out!

My heart will always bear the scars of my childhood and that’s okay. Because the tenderness of the remaining scar tissue will always be my reminder to never be like you. You only got to write the first chapter of my story. Now the pen belongs to me and the ending will be amazing.

Maybe you find yourself in a similar place. Maybe you feel lost, broken, alone, and/or unlovable. Let me be the one to remind you that you are made to love and be loved. Don't let a broken, angry parent or partner write your story. The pen is yours. It has always been yours. Take it back. Write the rest of your story how you want it to go. You get to decide the ending. Make it amazing.

Talk to that little voice inside yourself. We all have one. Ask them to go on the journey of discovering self-love with you. It's a journey that you won't regret. It's a long journey and it's not free. Your currency will probably be tears but you won't mind when it's all said and done. Grab your pen, and put on your most comfortable shoes, you've got a journey to take. I'll meet you at the end of the road if you'd like.

humanity
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About the Creator

Susan Gaines

A word-loving, creative, woman who is just happy to be living life.

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