Psyche logo

I wake up everyday.

by Hope Martin about a year ago in recovery

How I have coped with anxiety and depression after abuse.

Once upon a time, there was a girl who believed in love. As a little girl, she dreamed of the man who would one day love her, and the children they would have, the beautiful wedding and the house that they would build with their own two hands.

But that little girl did not grow up with a good example of what love was supposed to look like. Her mother was a kind, strong, loving mother. Who taught the little girl to be kind, and strong. And that love came from deep within the heart.

But her mother only ever seemed to love the wrong kind of men. And the little girl and her siblings watched their mother be mistreated and abused as they grew up. They watched their mother cry, and try, and do everything within her power to try and please these men until either her mother left them because she could no longer take the hurt, or because the poison of the men her mother tried to love would leak down onto her children.

See, her mother had the need to be needed. The urge to be loved. And it wasn't until the little girl was an adult that her mother fought that need so that she could have a healthy relationship. And it was something that mistakenly taught to the innocent mind of the daughter that she nourished the ideas of being kind and loving.

And one day the little girl grew up. And then she met a boy while she was traveling. A boy that lived far away across the sea in a land down under. And for years they fought to be together, going back and forth between the States and Australia.

But the boy was cruel though the girl did not see it. She thought he was valiant, and brave, and handsome, and strong. She thought he was kind, and she also thought no one would ever love her the way that he did. Because he told her so. He told her that he loved her, and so deep down she knew it must be true.

Nevermind that every day he called her ugly or fat in so many words. And threatened to leave her if she did not lose weight. And doctors once they were married even told him that her body was different, suffering from an imbalance that made it harder for her than all the beautiful Australian girls to lose weight. And when they put her on medicine that made her faint because of low blood sugar, he still told her she was not allowed to eat more than what he said she could

Every day he made sure that she brought nothing to the relationship because an overqualified American with an impressive resume but no degree was more to pay than an Australian, so she was never called back for her interviews.

And every day the dinner was made when he got home, the house was clean, her chores were done, and all mandatory hours of exercise suffered through and yet... he was still ashamed. And she was still disgusting. And soon he stopped touching her, and though he denied it to the very end, she was sure he had touched someone else.

She hated herself for not being good enough. She hated herself for being disgusting. She hated herself for being so ugly that he was ashamed of her. She hated people to see her. She shut herself away until she could go home, not even realizing that she was now broken.

When her mother took her back, she held her daughter in her arms and let her cry. And finally someone explained to her that she was infact abused. Just because her husband did not hit her, doesn't mean he was not hurting her. And even though the kind girl had solved so many other people's questions about the subject, it wasn't before her mother TOLD her that she herself was abused that she could understand.

And so she tried to heal in all the wrong ways that a broken person does. It leads to more predatory abusive people, and mistakes. However, some of those mistakes... this girl will never take back. I am that girl. And I wake up every morning fighting that darkness, the one that says I am disgusting and weak, and worthless. The one that tells me that no one will ever love me. A recent end to a three-year relationship only fights to reinforce these feelings.

But now I have something to live for.

And her name is Aylaina Sky. So every morning I wake up, and I fight that broken sadness within me. I have a routine, and every day I get stronger. During the lockdown, and during normal times, I wake up and I do my routine, and I win my battle within myself. I force my self into my routine to set the day so I can lead her by example. So that she never is taught that it is okay to let others trample all over you.

So I wake up. Every day.

I get up, and I shake off the nightmares that I have every night of my life. I fight off the dark thoughts of worthlessness and ugliness by immediately jumping out of bed. Because if I don't open the drapes and let the sunlight in I'll have to fight harder to get out of bed. Before I had no choice but to work on improving myself, my bed and I were very well acquainted, and not in a fun way.

I go brush my hair and teeth and wash my face or shower. I force myself to look in the mirror and groom. I put on my make-up on days I feel particularly down.

And then I am done, I force myself to look in the mirror a little longer. I take the time to acknowledge the weight I have lost. Over 100 pounds and counting. I am damn proud. Not because of my ex-husband. But because I wanted to lose weight for my own health. And it was my weight loss that allowed my baby to come into creation.

My eyes are deep, and velvet and teddy bear brown and they are sexy. And that shade of red on my lips makes me look pretty damn kissable. I find things that I am happy with.

Then I go wake up my baby, clean her up, feed her breakfast, and we do our 'school work' (not to be a bragging mom but my daughter is not even two years old and she can count to 8).

We work on potty training, then we sing and dance (because exercise is a part of our routine, it makes mommy feel good about herself, and it makes baby happy). And then its playtime while mommy works on the house or works. And this entire time, I am looking at her. She is the exact image of me when I was little. And she is beautiful and perfect. So that must am I. Because she is a part of me. I created her.

So I wake up every day wake up. And I take care of myself. So that I can take care of her. So that she grows up knowing that she is worthy of every happiness.

Hope Martin
Hope Martin
Read next: Never In the Cover of Night
Hope Martin

Hello to everyone who ventures here!

I am a professional writer, and this is where I blog for personal pleasure.

To See all of my content:

To hire me as a freelancer writer email: [email protected]

See all posts by Hope Martin

Find us on socal media

Miscellaneous links