When I think about my childhood, I always have the most wonderful memories running through my brain. Beautiful, sunny weather with a little bit of a breeze; long summer days spent outside playing with friends; big family dinners with the most delicious, homemade Bulgarian food; hanging out with my “girls” (think 4 generations of women) watching the latest Mexican or Venezuelan telenovela…These were the good days - when my biggest worry was not being able to stay up late to finish watching the Champions League final!
Me in kindergarten
My childhood though was far from perfect. It definitely blessed me with some amazing memories that I will cherish for life but it also scarred me at an age where I was barely starting to know the world around me. My brain however was working hard to keep the child in me alive even if everything around me was pushing me to grow up and fast. This is the only way I can explain why my mind used to focus so much on the good memories. They say that we tend to do that as a way of coping with difficult situations and stress.
It’s thanks to these memories I’ve always had a positive outlook on life and I’ve tried to keep that for as long as I could. I’ve been called naïve…I’ve been told that I’m looking at the world through a pair of pink coloured glasses most of my life. It’s true, I was naïve and I definitely had a pair of coloured glasses on as I was growing up. Wanna know the saddest part about all this? Nobody prepares you for the moment those glasses break…
If the pandemic taught me anything, it’s that I’m a walking trauma response. My thoughts, my fears, my feelings, my work-ethic…The way I carry myself and speak to people…Every little piece of me holds the memory of a specific traumatic event in my life that I’ve suppressed all these years and that, conveniently, decided to resurface now. I never fully understood the struggle of fighting the demons inside until recently. It’s like you’re in the middle of a ring and you feel half-prepared (or tipsy) when you see that your opponent is The Rock. He starts attacking you even before the match begins. The punches are rolling in. You feel your head pounding, your vision is getting blurry and you feel this tightening in your chest. You want to give up but you can’t - too many people watching. So you get up only to be backed into a corner and pushed onto the ground. Again.
Dealing with trauma is not fun. It’s hard, painful and devastating. I’ve come to realize that I have to rearrange all of me - like a puzzle, before I can move forward with my life. And as much as I’ve seen support at my workplace, I have yet to see that from my own family. It’s sad that the people we love the most sometimes fail to see what’s right in front of them. Imagine having anxiety and depression while hopping from one traumatic experience to another, all the while not getting any help whatsoever? Fun times…Great memories indeed.
I know I sound bitter. I’d say “Forgive me” but I have at least 2 decades of trauma that kinda makes this ok, I feel. I also understand that I wrote a whole post without actually talking about my trauma. In my defense, I did that with my therapist. Hurray! To anyone who stuck around till the end of this - I thank you from the bottom of my heart. It hasn’t been easy for me to share anything that would allow a glimpse beneath my surface…I guess you could say I was raised that way. Anyways, thank you for reading. It means the world! ❤️
