Some Unpacked Trauma

There’s a running joke about Filipino moms (there’s actually several, but that’s not my point).

I’m referring to the one where they take arms  with their chinelas (slipper) or a kitchen utensil and run around with it because you’ve gotten on their last nerve. More likely even to throw it at you. 

In retrospect though, when I was 5, I don’t think I found it funny.

My therapist recently thought it was an outstanding idea to prod at those family dynamics on a Friday evening. Yes, this was what I was doing on a Friday evening - call me a lola (granny). 

It was a very intense, emotional session. It left me dissecting the possibility I was actually holding trauma from my childhood that I didn’t realize was there.

When I was maybe 5 or 6, my mother had struck me over the face with a wooden spoon. The spoon wasn’t out of the ordinary; but her cornering me in my room and hitting me in the face was. 

I recall my nose bleeding. 

I am now 30, and I can still vividly remember sobbing uncontrollably, first on the floor of my room, and then on the counter of the bathroom while my mom cleaned the mess off of me. I couldn’t tell you how long it went on for, but at the time, I think my blubbered breathing felt like forever.

No parent is perfect. I forgave her long ago (as she has apologized well into my adulthood)  - but not before I set a boundary at age 12 not even knowing what boundaries were. 

Yet, I questioned myself during my therapy session. Why was I sobbing about it now? It happened so long ago, I truly feel it's water under the bridge. And even at the end of the session, I couldn’t answer myself.
We talk about unpacking trauma - so maybe I hadn’t done that. Maybe I was just using humor as a way to mask over it - along with the facet of time.
We also talk about healing your inner child. Maybe that was it - maybe I had more work to do.

The obvious answer is yes - and not just for the inner child healing.

My mother and I are very similar; in most ways, positively.

With a few exceptions.

I’ve noticed I hold rage like my mother. I have also learned her coping habits and (poor) communication skills. This has gotten me into trouble - but that’s for another story. 

She has passed on things that I love and cherish. She has also passed on painful, bitter things.

I have been using therapy for over a year, and have had to unravel all of these unhealthy parts of me.

I’ve had to endure the ugly and uncomfortable, like going over my parent’s divorce, the aforementioned family dynamics, and where that leaves me. 

I’m hoping as everything unfolds, I can continue to find strength in the current choices I’m making, being more secure in myself, and finding my softer version. 

I do it for the past me,  for all the times I look back and I could have been better, but I  just didn’t know how.

I do it for the current me, and the future me. 

I do it for the people I once loved, do love, and will love. 

And I guess I have to do it for the kid that sat on the carpet, wondering what they did so wrong. Even when I can't go back and tell them {nothing}.