My earliest memory is of my dad yelling at my mom at the dinner table and standing up, knocking over his chair and almost hitting my mom. My mom ran to the bathroom, crying, and locked the door. I couldn’t have been more than 3 years old. The argument was about not telling me where my hamburger came from because then I wouldn’t eat my food. I was confused and of course thought the whole thing was my fault. I’ve had to work on this memory with a therapist because it caused me a PTSD/fight or flight reaction every time I thought about it.
I can still remember the situation very clearly, but my heart doesn’t pound anymore when I think about it. Now I feel sad for that tiny girl who was allowed to feel like she was the cause of anything at all going on between the adults in the house. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I was precious and worth loving at one point in my history with my parents. It all changed, but once in my life they thought I was wonderful.
This is really fun, isn’t it????