How can three siblings be so different yet grew up in the same home?
I know for me being the middle child, life was much different from it was for my other two siblings. One sister was 3 years older and then a baby brother was 11 years younger. I was a good kid who loved to read, ride her bike, play outside and play “office” in her room. I was quiet and shy much of my early years, which meant that my mom called me names from a very early age. “I was a “problem”. I was not ” normal”. There had to be something “wrong” with me. Why was I so fearful? Why did I cry so much? Couldn’t I be like my sister? ”
From as early as 3 or 4 years old, this was my everyday life. We lived one way at home behind closed doors and another in public. Most of the extended family could see how I was treated but often was fearful of confronting the situation because of the possible distancing of me from them. Most felt that if they kept me close, then at least I could be protected on some level.
Most were wrong.
I was not protected.I was not safe.
I lived in fear each day of once again waking up to the nightmare, yet dreaded sleep even more. Sleep frightened me. Darkness overwhelmed me. Fear was my best friend. At least with fear I knew what to expect. I couldn’t say the same for my parents or siblings.
It is still that way today. I never know from one minute to the next what my “first” family will do today to try to hurt me or harm my 2nd family. The family that I so love is often hurt so deeply by the out reaching tentacles of the “crazy” ones.
Family that I wish loved me, as I love them
wanted me healthy, happy and whole, as I pray for them
cherished my children, as I do theirs
wished the best for me, as I do them.
But after reading Elisa Morgan’s newest book, ” The Beauty of Broken” I have come to the realization that we each have adapted to our raising and childhood in different ways. I had to leave that life from the day I turned 18, while the other two have stayed entrenched in that life. If I had not left, I would have lost myself even more. It took me until I was 46 years old to finally try to find ” Angie” and to really seek what God said about me. To block out what has been said about me by my first family. To believe I am worth more. To believe I am loved. Such hard truths to accept. Yet, I am on the road today.
I would have lost me if I had stayed any longer.
I would recommend this powerful book to anyone struggling in their own family. Elisa shares the ups and down of her childhood as well as her life as a mother, wife and the struggles of that family. Powerful reading and you will walk away looking at your relationships in a different light.
Side Note: When my dad passed away 12 years ago, my mother wanted everyone to write something on the pine box casket. My husband wrote, ” Dennis, thank you for giving me your wonderful daughter Angie to love and cherish. She is so special to me. ”
My mom went behind hubby and marked out the writing.