It’s just been bad luck.
I had a fairly heated discussion with someone quite close to me some months ago. We’ve actually had a number of these debates in the months since as well. When trying to explain the factors that weren’t immediately obvious to an outsider I mentioned the mayhem I mentally put myself through after the death of my father ten years ago. The specific context isn’t all that relevant except for the way in which it was responded to.
“…but you never really had a dad, though, did you?”
This is another one of the things I’d happily remove from my memory if I could. Not because it’s a wildly inappropriate thing to say to a person under any circumstance I can currently imagine (though that’s true, too), but because it sits in my brain as unfinished business.
I can’t stand being misunderstood.
I decided in the moment when it happened that I just didn’t have the time to dive deep into the psychology of the developing mind but it upsets me because of the subtext I infer:
You’re really making a big deal out of nothing.
Ah yes, so I am told.
The thing of it is that I’m not reinventing the abandonment wheel over here, nor have I turned estrangement into some wildly unpredictable mental health crisis no one could have seen coming.
I was little and the circumstances were way beyond my scope. I created a narrative around my trauma that made sense to a nine year old child.
My kid-version of things was the best I had at the time.
That’s the version of me that went unchecked and nearly destroyed me.
My dad left my life when I was a child and chose not to accept my attempts at reconciliation until he died.
It’s not because I’m not worth loving and not worth protecting. It’s not because I wasn’t enough in any department.
My dad chose to opt out and that’s not indicative of my value.
It’s just been bad luck.
My stepfather was in my life from my tweens until I was a mother. Though I block him from my memory most of the time I am able to recall dozens of specific conflicts where he was critical of me and treated me in a hurtful manner. He was present in my life by actively seeking ways to tear me down.
Brian intentionally hurt my feelings because he believed I needed to be put in my place.
It’s not because I was bad the way I was. It wasn’t because I didn’t deserve respect from a member of my family.
It’s just been bad luck.
My response to the trauma I didn’t choose for myself is one of fear and clinging. Sometimes people in my position respond by gaining attention from many but never letting anyone actually get close.
None of what I am going through is unique to me. It is entirely possible to grieve the end of a chapter while rejoicing in the beginning of something new and unknown. It is possible to be afraid but equally as convinced that it will work out. It isn’t odd to be hurt by the things you come to know in the aftermath, even after you’ve already decided, acknowledged and executed the exit strategy BECAUSE the hurting outweighed the rest.
It isn’t that great effort wasn’t made.
It isn’t that I was a bad person or a bad partner.
The ways I’ve been hurt weren’t because I was less than.
It’s just been bad luck.
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