Instilled Fear

Wasn't I Cute?

What Fear Can Do to a Child

I am adding this in retrospect to the heading Where Did i Go? which is odd because I never realized it fit until pondering the launch of my memoir plus and its connection. Where did i go perfectly sums up my life even as a little girl. As witnessed in the first attached picture, I was a mischievous little thing, and I believe outspoken, which sometimes got me in trouble. I enjoyed being playful and making others laugh. See my impish grin above?

I can’t remember a lot of my past; sadly, that blew away with my fall and head injury. Now I’m not sure how much I want to get into what I remember of those early years. Somewhere else I will, but I believe my parents did the best they could for where they were in life. I loved them, but I did not like the things they did. That, I guess that is true for most of us.

Grief lived in the walls of our father’s house, which was strict with lots of rules, and you obeyed them or else (?) I think it was the threats that stifled and shut me down as a child. If I were to ask where did I go as a little girl and teen, the answer would be deep, deep within, where I could hide and stay safe from an environment of fear, chaos, danger, and grief.

Raised as a Catholic, my father was a master manipulator and had a tendency to use the devil as a discipline. I don’t want to speak badly of faith, as it got me through terrible, lonely years when I felt I had nowhere to go. It carried me during rough times like footprints in the sand my entire life. It was a faith in a man named Jesus, and Christianity that helped me, and the stories of his love from the Holy Bible.

My father often threatened that the devil would get me if I did anything wrong. And so as a child I coloured within the lines, afraid of everything and anything, never allowing myself to wander out for fear of repercussions. My lead pencil tip almost went through the paper. I pressed so hard in my printing and, later, with my forceable, cursive writing. I suspect in retrospect it held the panic and insane fear I suppressed.

No child should be raised in fear; it leaves lasting scars and affects their entire makeup, and leads to a lifelong struggle to silence those intimidating, influential, harsh voices. Because they come from a person of prominence, those comments only solidify that as a child, we must be wrong and our parents right, which is not always the case. But because of our situation, as children living in a parent's house, we must listen and obey, and find healthy ways to cope.

So engrained was the fear and panic, that layers and layers of moss and weeds grew over the angelic little girl, threatening to destroy her entire passage on Earth. There were glimpses, rays of sunshine brightening her face, allowing blooms and flowers in moments of pride as she stood tall, but it took so very much out of her.

Locked up for decades, the barriers inside were difficult to break through, chains longer and stronger than Rapunzel’s hair wrapped her perfectly still and afraid to move. She did never want to upset the apple cart, or cause a fierce fight. It was safer to bury her true self and to never let her spirit live.

But a restlessness took hold of her and she could never figure out why she was dissatisfied, hungering for something more. Her shadow forgot about her essence buried inside, and it looked like she would die before who she was meant to be, lived. It was a sad time for her and her shadow, as they were out of sorts and unable to reconcile.

It is only when free to be ourselves that we can find happiness, and as children we need patience until we can make our own decisions as adults.