I need to tell my story properly

Not, I learned from it and now I am a better person. Not with a positive ending, a pithy summary that makes it all OK, not with self deprecating humour that says it didn’t matter.

My story is not OK. What happened to me is not OK. It is not OK that I don’t have kids. It is not OK that I wasn’t allowed to adopt. It’s not OK that I, the most naturally maternal person in my friendship group, is the only one without a child. It’s not OK that my troubled childhood made forming relationships as an adult difficult and it’s not OK that when I was in a secure relationship my body let me down.

Not OK. And nothing can make it OK.

And yes, I am angry. I am angry because I was let down. I’m angry because I was misunderstood, my words misinterpreted. I am angry because of the shame I carried for much too long. Some days I still carry it. Sometimes I think I’ll always carry it. And it blocks my self-worth.

And so I need to tell my story properly. Not wrapped up and made palatable. Not with an easy punchline. My story, unfinished, untidy, incomplete, as it is, as I am. My story, to be felt, heard, understood.

I need to tell my story properly because my story has value, and my story has value because I have value.

I am not a victim, although I struggled to survive. I am still alive, I am still here, and I am still fighting to make a good life for myself. And I will.

Because it is the best way to refute the lies I was told about myself, it’s the best way to affirm my worth, it’s the best way to make something good out of all the s*** that happened.

To live a good life, even though there are days when I don’t feel like I have it in me to keep making the effort. And that’s OK.

It’s not the life I wanted, it’s not the life I deserved, but it’s the one I’ve got and I’ll be damned if I let anyone else judge it, and me, again.

Anon