family

Family.

A mixed blessing if there ever was one.

Hardly anything can enrage me as much as my family can, but hardly anyone can make me feel so taken care of and loved.

I’ve had my share of differences, disappointments and betrayals with my parents and – most of all – my brother.

Over the years, I believed I would never be able to forgive them, let go of everything that happened in the past and move on without resentment, without all the pain. I was mad, oh so mad and my childhood soul was still tortured by all the beatings, all the vicious words, all the helpless suffering.

And so I fled, traveled across the world, desperate to get away, start anew, forget what ever happened and rebuild my self-esteem. I was restless and unhappy – mentally ill and physically broken.

It didn’t work. I couldn’t forget. The memories haunted me, broke me, hurt me.

Today, however, I’ve forgiven. I’ve truly let go. 

Today, I’ve moved back in to my childhood home.

Today, I live in my childhood room.

And I’m OK.

Miraculously, surprisingly, blessedly.

When I separated from my husband – again – there was no doubt in my parents’ minds that I could stay as long as I needed to. There was no silent reproach, no criticism, nothing. Only love and acceptance for where I was.

So, wherever you are, whatever your relationship with your family you have – don’t give up.

There’s always hope. There’s often healing. There’s joy and fun after the fear and pain. 

It happened to me.

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