Why do I so often feel like I’m disposable? Is it because my mom didn’t want me? Or maybe because not even my dad wanted me. They may have wanted the idea of me, but me? Nah, they didn’t want that part. Or at least it feels like they didn’t. Sometimes when I feel overwhelming sadness I wonder if it could have been different for me and my adult life if I was “wanted” as a child. The series of questions in my mind never ends. I question everything, about everything, because I have had to survive. Why do I feel like I need someone with me at all times? Why do I even feel alone?
I have been working some through emotionally heavy shadow work, and it’s opened my eyes to answers to some of these questions, but my journey is just beginning. If you aren’t familiar with ‘shadow work’ I would suggest doing some research on how it can help you work through trauma. I am doing shadow work to help “heal my inner child,” something I feel is a necessity in my journey to living a better life.
I have been procrastinating the past couple of days with my shadow work routine. I began a journal prompt the other day that read:
After reading this prompt, I immediately had thoughts come to my head about my father. I haven’t spoken much of him as he wasn’t in my life too much from age 12 until I was an adult. I would talk to him on birthdays, see him in passing on holidays at my Maw Maw’s house, but other than that, he was that relevant to my life. He didn’t make a huge effort when it came to raising me or dealing with the hard stuff, he simply sent me off to Georgia from Texas, and I was out of sight, out of mind. I assumed my stepmother, sister, and his new adopted child were far more important than the issues that came with me.
While starting this journal prompt response, I began to weep silently. One tear at a time rolled down my cheek as I thought of my dad throwing the softball with me around age 9. I loved playing softball, but never had the parents for it. If you know, you know. Being a softball parent isn’t for the weak, and I just didn’t have parents that invested in me or anything I wanted to do. After my few tears I began to write. I wrote down exactly what I would say. I thought about how it would feel for him to hear this coming from his oldest daughter. But most importantly, I kept my eye on the ball, and thought about me. I said keep writing Casi Nicole. Keep going. Say what you need to say. And I did. Dad, if you see this, my goal isn’t to hurt you; it’s to heal me.
Whatever you do, never run back to what broke you. This is what I tell myself when I miss my dad. Because he did break me. He made me disposable, and without a second thought. Now it’s on to my last words to my mother and I am disconsolately reluctant to begin. I’ll keep y’all updated.
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