Childhood,  Me,  Mental Health

She is a Tough Little Nugget

So yesterday I shared with you some very difficult stuff about my childhood. I don’t regret it at all but I wanted to share with you how that disclosure continues to impact me. I want you to know because it helps you to understand me better. But also because I think it is important for people to understand that abuse and neglect is not something that you ever get over. Don’t get me wrong, you move on. You have friends, eat good food, get married, vacuum the living room. You laugh and you have a life. But you do not get over it.

Yesterday I cracked open a very small part of my childhood trauma and I went to bed feeling pretty okay. My husband brought me a comfort food snack. I vegged in front of the TV. My boyfriend sent me lots of sweet messages. Plus many of you reached out with love and support which is so amazing. So I went to bed feeling pretty good about life. Then my brain clicked on.

Time for some truth telling!

Okay confession time. I am a 44 year old woman who goes to bed with a woobie. If you don’t know what I am talking about you were never a child. A woobie, a lovie, a sookie, a binky. It’s basically a security blanket that a little child uses to self sooth when they are going to sleep. Mine is called B. It’s always been named B even though there have been many different B’s over the years. The only criteria is that it has sateen for me to rub between my fingers. Sometimes it has been an actual baby blanket, sometimes it has been a full sized blanket that has sateen edging. It’s current iteration is actually a cloth napkin that is all sateen on one side.

As I said, last night I felt pretty good, until my brain clicked on. So my hand went up to the spot in the bed where B should be … but it wasn’t. So I groped around in the dark and I couldn’t find it. So I turned on the light… and I couldn’t find it. So there I was, the middle of the night, 44 years old, FREAKING OUT because I cannot find my woobie. I don’t just mean emotionally freaking out. I mean pulling open all the drawers, moving all the furniture, all the lights on, stripping the bed. I mean full on madness. I was up until after 5am in full blown crazy. My mind was everywhere from my husband took it to teach me a lesson to the cats took it. It was not good friends, very very not good. Eventually I think I passed out from sheer emotional exhaustion.

In the light of day I know that my issue had very little to do a missing B and everything to do with a sad and scared little kid who needed some comfort. She was in the drivers seat and I couldn’t wrestle the wheel back. She is a tough little nugget. This is what I mean when I say you don’t ever get over it. The damage is always there, under the surface, ready to poke it’s head out to stamp its feet and demand to be heard. However this doesn’t mean I shouldn’t talk about it. In fact I would say the opposite is true.I will speak until she feels heard, until she feels safe, until she feels loved.

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