In the depths of solitude, I stand tall
Bound by the echoes of my inner call
I've learned the truth, clear as day
In my own strength, I'll find my way
Emotional storms may rage and roar
But within me lies an unbreakable core
Deserving more than the pain I bear
I'll rise above, my spirit rare
No more reliance on a fleeting hand
I'll be my own parent, firm and grand
With determination as my guide
I'll heal the wounds that lie inside
My future's path, mine to mold and shape
No claim on success, no tie, no tape
I'll soar, I'll conquer, I'll break through
For in my journey, my dreams renew
So watch me rise, watch me ascend
A warrior strong, a pain to transcend
In the realm of self, I find my key
For I alone hold the power to be free
This poem comes from the fact that I have had to parent myself. I didn't grow up with kindness when it came to making mistakes, being sad or happy, or anything. It may have looked like that on the outside, but only when people were watching. My mother was not a nice person. She didn't tolerate mistakes, big or small. I wasn't taught how to correct my mistakes, I was taught that making mistakes meant I was inherently flawed. I was screamed at, sometimes slapped or hit when I was younger, told I'm dumb, stupid, a moron, and idiot, or phrases like, "What the Fuck is wrong with you (Name Removed)? Jesus Christ, (Name Removed)! God you're an idiot." I wasn't comforted when I was sad. I would receive the same treatment for being sad, happy, bored, content, you name it.
So yes, I parent myself. If I drop a dish and break it, my automatic reaction is still to call myself a dumbass, but I'm able to correct myself, understand that a dish is replaceable, and comfort myself while telling myself it's okay, that mistakes happen. I buy myself something when I am successful, I give myself spa days, I tell myself I did a good job and I'm proud of myself, I hug myself, my house is full of positive signs and sayings. When I'm mean to myself, I realize I'm triggered by my mother. I allow myself to feel the pain of her screaming at me and calling me names, and I allow the little girl inside me to grieve the parents and life she deserved, while consoling that little girl inside of me. Sure, I still have a therapist, and yes, that's extremely helpful, and yes, I do have supportive people in my life. However, it's the moments I'm alone that I am my own worst critic, or rather, my mother's critic of me. It's when her and I were alone that the abuse took place. And YES, this is abuse. So when I'm alone, people don't see the side of me that suffers, unless I choose to share it on social media. It's a constant work in progress.
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