Facebook memories can be nice little reminders of fun times with friends, pictures of your children when they were itty bitty and didn't shove their elbows into your eyeballs, and memes that have lost popularity. But sometimes they're reminders of how your life was at that exact moment.
I came across this one while checking my memories today. The 39 comments were of friends showing their support and letting me vent. From what I gathered from trying to decipher 16-year-old angsty Jessi, is that my grandmother decided to start screaming at me because I was sick and couldn't clean the house. Which was expected of me anytime I had 5 free minutes.
I did do the 10-year Facebook challenge, and I've already written a post about what I would say to 16-year-old Jessi. But it never ceases to amaze me that 10 years later, I would be where I am today. I've gotten help for my mental illnesses, been able to raise a daughter in a somewhat healthy environment, and beat addiction.
My therapist often blows smoke up my ass and tells me that most people that grew up the way I did and also ended up in addiction don't survive it. He tells me that I'm a scrappy woman who clawed my way out of every situation I've ever been in. I've lived to tell the tale and want to hold the hands of people who are going through their own journey. He tells me that he's only ever met one other person who approached their recovery and life the way I did.
10 years ago I was clinically depressed living in a household where if you dared to shed a tear you were chastised for being weak. If you tried to stand up for yourself you'd get spat in the face and threatened with physical violence. So I learned to just internalize everything and try and fix it myself without reaching out for help.
That's how I've lived my entire life. Never asking for help unless I cannot figure out a way to do it myself. I've gotten to the point in my life where I've had to swallow my pride and put my hand out, shaking, and say I can't do it alone.
Don't get me wrong, I'm a single mother who lives alone in her own apartment. It's still a thing I'm struggling with. But I've come to realize that it's when we ask for help so many doors open. You're able to meet your needs and become content with your life.
We are not our trauma. But we are how we deal with it. Childhood abuse creates a cycle of abuse. It's never-ending unless we decide to end it. Stare at our demons in the eyes and tell them there is no room for them here. But we can't do it alone, we must ask for help in breaking that cycle.
Because no child ever deserves to believe they're not worth helping.
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