Do we really mourn our childhood?

Do we really mourn our childhood?

It’s been a while since my last post, a lot has been going on and I wasn’t able to blog about it. Anyone who follows me on social media will know bits and pieces of how I’ve been dealing with everything. I have been dealing with a lot since I started EMDR therapy. I thought it would be easier to handle than Exposure Therapy and in a way, it is. There is still the fact that trauma is trauma and no matter what type of therapy you get to help you heal from them, they are not magically less difficult. I am stuck with the trauma I am working on right now, the sexual abuse. Every time I start to dissociate during EMDR we stop and talk about my mother instead. Last Tuesday something seemed to click. Not only with my therapist, but also with me.


I am starting to see and understand that I didn’t get abused because I was a bad child. I got abused because my mother never loved me. She doesn’t love anyone. I started to think about what kind of child I was and now I wonder, do we really mourn our childhood? I have always felt all kinds of sadness about my childhood, I missed having a family, I missed my dad. Never had I ever felt sadness for who I used to be, I never missed me. Tuesday seems to have changed everything.


Do I mourn for what I never had? A childhood and mother I never had? Do I miss all that? On the surface I did, because doing so took focus off the abuse I suffered. It took focus off of my traumas between the flashbacks, nightmares and intrusive memories. Without recognising it, without being aware of it I was angry with little me. I was just as angry with her as I grew up to believe everyone was. Anger is an emotion I discuss with my EMDR therapist quiet a lot and we discussed how I never get angry with anyone. I get angry with myself, even when I’m angry with someone else I turn the blame on to myself. Internalise anger is, something I learnt to do.

Ever since last Tuesday I can’t stop thinking about who I was as a child, despite the abuse, despite the incredible loneliness I felt, after I wasn’t allowed to see my grandparents anymore and after my dad fell ill. I am starting to see what a courageous child I actually was, a free spirit with her own mind. Just as precious as every other child is. Little me didn’t deserve to be abused, I didn’t deserve to be abused.


There is so much I want to tell you about her, about little me, but for now I just want you to know how incredibly sad I feel for her. How I miss her, how I miss me. I am not angry with her right now. I am angry with her mother, with MY mother. And that is massive progress in my recovery. I am not mourning what I never had, I am mourning what she took away from me. Whatever that is, is what I find out along the way.







Love & Light, Sandra

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