Mistake....

I don`t remember how old I was but we were sitting at the table in the last house we lived in the village where I grew up.

I don`t even remember if the whole family was sitting at the table or if it was only my father and I.  I think my mom was hovering around in the kitchen or dining room because she thinks she remembers some of it.

I know I was older than 6 and younger than 12.  Not very specific I know.  If I had to go with my gut I`d say 9.  Somehow that feels right.

I also don`t exactly remember how that particular thing came to be, all I remember are these words.

My dad telling me that I was a mistake.  He said he had not wanted another child.  He was happy with just two kids.  A third child was so much more expensive.  You needed to get a bigger house, bigger furniture, a bigger car to fit this third child.  Two kids were fine, cars had 4 seats, tables had 4 chairs, and most houses had at least two rooms.  So he did not want a third child.  I was lucky I was a girl cause when my mom told him she was pregnant with me, he told her if it was another boy, he was throwing her out on the street with her three brats.  I imagined the worst.  I would have been responsible for my mom and brother dying of cold and hunger if I had been a boy...  I LOVED my mom and brothers, that HURT!  It wasn`t long after that that I started trying to figure out how to die.

My dad loved me.  I know he loved me.  I was his princess.  My life was so much easier than that of my brothers.  He had such high expectations of them.  They after all had to become successes, become rich and provide abundantly for their families.  I just had to be pretty and perfect in order to get the best guy to take care of me and give him beautiful grand-children.

I was my dad`s doll.  One of the best memories I have of him is his brushing my hair.  My father was not a gentle man by any means.  He saw gentleness as a weakness.  He was a rough man in everything he did, but when he brushed my hair, he was so gentle, so as to not hurt me.  My mom, usually gentle just pushed the brush through my hair until all the tangles were out, but he would sit patiently and hold my hair so as to not tug until all the tangles were out.

My dad was my hero,   until he admitted to me that I was a mistake and not wanted...

If anything could have set up my bipolar, that would have been it.   <----- probably didn`t but just saying.

My world just fell at that moment.  Those words still affect everything I do or say to this day, even though I have been through so many therapies, it`s not funny.

I am a mistake.  I should never have existed.  Nothing I do matter.  Those words go round and round in my head ad nauseum.

When I had my own children, my battle cry was that they were meant, they belonged, they matter they DESERVE to be.   Nobody but NOBODY was going to call them a mistake!  Even though they came from me, the other part of them came from someone important to this world.

Many have tried to destroy the impact of those words.  My mom tried over and over to make me understand that she had planned me, that she knew the consequences of her actions and was willing to face them for me.  She wanted me, I belonged.  Many more have tried.  Nothing works.  Those words are burned into my soul.

If I have any words of advice (which I have not followed, too late....) for parents is to be very careful what you say to your children.  You just never know what will scar them for life.

Thanks for reading.