Overcoming the trials of a confused and harmful childhood take time and the willingness to self reflect. In 1991, my mind snapped under the pressure of trying to keep up the same old role of responsibility. It turned out to be a blessing, setting me on the path of recovery:
At thirty-one, I had to learn to change my approach to life, because the old way wasn’t working.
The old way put me at the center of the family (even though I was fifth born), listening to and attempting to resolve every family issue: Do you think your younger sister is okay living out there in isolation? Your older sisters are not talking to each other. I can’t talk to Mom, will you? Why do men always leave me? Your brother thinks I abandoned him as a child. I can’t talk to Dad; he’ll listen to you. Your brother is coming to stay, and well, you know about his wife. I can’t live with your Father. And on and on.
The old way was me constantly trying to run from my problems, striving to be better, to do better, and to get ahead. I was invested in the belief…
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Writer, avid reader, former educator, and proud grandmother, currently experiencing life through the lens of ME/CFS. Words are, and always have been, a lifeline. Some of the best adventures, I'm discovering, take place in the imagination.