From memories to lessons

Last night Bear and I were lying in bed when we spotted a shooting star. I managed to get out “oooh shooting star” , we held hands and both proceeded to close our eyes and make wishes. My mind was racing because I was still in awe about the brightness of the star. When I focused, I wished for forgiveness, for lessons, for health, love and wealth.

Shortly after, we drifted off to sleep.

I dreamed with the essence of my grandmother (I know its her and I hear her, but I can’t see her former physical form). In this dream, my grandmother told me that my biological father was asking for me. I usually remember most of my dreams in great detail, however this one was very spotty. I felt distressed in my dream, and I also woke up distressed.

Every morning bear and I check in on how we slept, and while trying to recall my dream, I took a pause and I stated ” I wonder if he tells people he has a daughter.” Bear paused and with those kind eyes of his looked at me and said “I am sure he does” – I heard the slight crack in his voice.

I thanked my one for always reassuring me and like he tried to disregard the crack in his voice, I tried to clear the slight jab I felt in my chest.

I wondered if the dream with my grandmother was a literal one – “is he even alive?” “is he okay?” “why am I not caring as much as I used to” “do I still love him?”. I drove myself down the Socratic questioning black hole before I even had any coffee. Sigh.

I haven’t talked to biological father in months and I can’t say this is not normal. I have been working since I was a kid to forgive his absence and accept his choices while simultaneously attempting to stich the gaping hole on my chest. Sometimes I think I got that whole part of my life all healed up, and then an authority male figure commends me for my hard work at just existing, and I cry. Obviously there are parts of me that are still hurting, that are still needing validation from a person who was there so intermittently.

I went on about my day, reflected on 1,000 days sober and grieved with the little girl that is obviously still caged inside. I cried. I smiled. I prayed. I worked. I existed and because we are all one gigantic interconnected circle of humans, who are constantly reflecting one another, I spent a day not being seen. My job is relatively simple and today 2 very specific events came crashing down on me and all my wounded parts and on that little girls that woke up grieving.

I cried some more. Owned up to some mistakes. I tried to fix things. Got rejected (very respectfully), and I beat myself and that little girl some more for “not being good enough, or perfect enough; for making mistakes; for not being able to fix mistakes; for not pleasing everyone and the list kept going for a mile or two.” I did one of the things I tend to do best – I buried my head in overcompensation – so I worked harder, was nicer, covered all my bases for the week, because God forbid I fuck up again with something so simple.

Bear came home, I cried to him, he consoled me. I blamed my emotions on ovulation, on my ego, on the absence, on this damn hurt that doesn’t seem to ever heal. Then, I got up, I went to class. I smiled, I shared (more than usual) , poured my heart out , went to break, and got a call from the owner of the practice I do work for. She called to wish I take really good care of myself because she can feel in her body that today was just hard on me. She told me

“it is really hard when we are not seen”

Her words hit me like a ton of bricks and I just cried. I again blamed my emotions on ovulation.

I recalibrated and was honest with myself and her. “Today was hard”. I thanked her and as I hung up the phone, I realize I needed to be more gentle to myself, more caring.

Today was hard. Not being seen is hard. Not being seen by a person who contributed to your existence is heart crushing and it affects me – out of nowhere – when I least expect it.  So I took a deep breath and the whole day made sense.

I have never felt seen by him, really seen. Ironically, I took after his alcoholism to hide the pain I didn’t want to look at because he probably didn’t want to look at the pain his own world had caused him since he came into it. Its all a cycle. I try to break the cycle time and time again – and maybe, just maybe, I am meant to accept what was and is. Maybe there are things I am not supposed to understand. Maybe I have forgiven him, maybe I still care the same amount as I did when I was 10, maybe, just maybe, I am already where I keep thinking I need to arrive to.

I haven’t spoke with my biological father in months and I can’t say this is not normal. There are still parts of me that hurt for him, that long for him. There are parts of me that have forgiven him and love him deeply. There are parts of me that have let him go.

I may occasionally wonder if he mentions he has a daughter, but his actual choice to mention it or not doesn’t change the fact that I know he exists.

I sometimes need love and validation from the man that contributed to my existence. I am also aware that we don’t always get what we want, but we always get what we need.

We are conflicted, and that is alright.

Forever healing,

little girl in a big girl’s body