Ripples
“Who were your parents when you were growing up?” I knew she would ask at some point. “ You don’t know my parents. Last time you saw them, you were only a year old.” That was the end of the conversation, but I knew the topic would surface again. Someday, she would ask why we don’t see my parents anymore. My therapist suggested that I keep it simple. I had the lines rehearsed in my mind—“ My dad was unsafe and the rest of my family stopped liking us because we decided to protect you and your brother.” There are moments like these when I am reminded. As much as I try to block these realities out of my mind, the situation is still the same. Most days, I feel like I’ve moved on. But then it hits me like a freight train. Suddenly, I’m on the outside looking in. My confidence and self worth are nonexistent. I’m the bad guy. I can be strong for weeks— even months—and then something will take me under. A dream. A comment from our son. A question or comment fr...