Alexandra, otherwise simply known as The Empress, writes the blog, Good Day, Regular People. She is a supportive blogger, extremely insightful and an amazing writer.
I am always thrilled when I get a comment from Alexandra because her words are rich and heartfelt and I feel like she doesn’t just read my posts but she reads between the lines and knows what I’m trying to say better than I am often able to convey.
I am honored to have Alexandra here today sharing a letter that in her words, “In honor of April Child Abuse and Neglect Prevention Month, [I] knew I had to post on Domestic Chaos”.
Alexandra reminds us, ever so eloquently to live openly, own our stories and never be ashamed of sharing them.
To Those of Us Who Grew Up in Dysfunctional Homes:
Many, many times, I have wished for people in my real life who can listen to my life story without judging. Someone who hears my words without pity, who gets to know me and accepts me with all the left overs from the home life I had.
I want this letter to be that understanding friend to all of you out there in the world who grew up in a damaged home.
Growing up as a child from a dysfunctional home, I’d look around all the children at school or in my neighborhood, and think how lucky they were. All the lucky ones raised in idyllic surroundings; homes with tender words spoken and with eyes meeting theirs, looking back brimming with love. Whole homes with everything a child needed to grow up feeling cared for and cherished.
Things are much harder for someone like us. Maybe we don’t have a family support system right now, and never had one. Frequently, there are no role models, no warm memories of what it feels like to have a parent care and tend to us. There are all sorts of sources for the brokeness we carry around inside: abandonment, foster care, divorce, a missing parent, abuse, neglect, poverty, alcoholism, addiction, death, none of a parent’s time given to us.
Sometimes it is the parent’s fault, sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes it’s all they can offer or are capable of, many times being broken themselves.
If you are a child of a home that left you feeling sad, scared, hurt, forgotten; what I want you to know is that you are not what happened to you. Your life is a part of you, but it’s not the whole you.
You may still be carrying around the childhood shame from growing up so different than what you saw around you. This shame that clings to you is a shame that you did not earn or create for yourself. Living as though you are the guilty one for having brought your life upon yourself will leave you frozen in your childhood.
Shame confuses us into thinking we had a part in our life’s situation. We didn’t. We feel shame because we know our lives weren’t what is right for a child. We feel shame because we fear people will judge and whisper and look down on us, have pity for us. We think shame will keep us safe from the pain of having our secrets heard, of being found out; if we just stay quiet about our lives and our story, then no one will hurt us with the way they think about us.
But living in shame and secret does the opposite of what we think it does: it doesn’t protect us. It leaves us isolated and unknown and not a part of anything.
I write to all of us, all of us today, to say: live OPENLY. Tell your story, own it, make it a source of your inspiration and use it as a way to find your people, your community. Open your mouth and share the gift of who you are and all that you bring to others, so that anyone else out there feeling alone in a world of not being understood, can hear your story mix with theirs and feel accepted.
Take a deep breath, trust the universe, and let your truth become your connection to the world, and not that thing that keeps you separated. Invite people into your life, open that door, and the world will come in.
I know. I first told my story only a year ago at the Listen To Your Mother show in Madison. I have never felt more a part of this world and everyone in it since that day forward.
To read the piece, The Reach of a Small Moment that Alexandra read for the Madison Listen To Your Mother show, it can be found here.
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Alexandra, you are beautiful, as are your words. I still remember the email you wrote me, reaching out to me to tell me I’m not alone, that what I experienced as a child, does not define me, but is part of me. I hope that everyone who reads this letter, will feel the same way I did, after reading your email – loved, understood and hopeful.
Oh, A: you know you are very special to me. I hope I’ve told you enough times, you are important to me. Thank you.
I applaud this message and support it.
I do however fear that in some cases there is the fear of retribution for living openly and telling your story as the participants (parents, etc) are still alive and have the potential to hurt you.
Yes, sadly, true. There is no perfect answer sometimes.
Thanks for stopping by, Y.
Oh, I know I left details out, but the one who hurt me is still alive.
I just decided to stay away.
You never cease to amaze, inspire and touch my heart with your words. A true and beautiful message. I too grew up in a violent and dysfunctional home, I vascilated between shame and pure honesty most of my life and yes I blamed myself far too often for the anger, the rage, the bruises that I hid.
The only part of my story that is odd is that for all the hands that touched me and my siblings in anger , those same hands also hugged, lifted and loved me. That I know for sure…our dysfunction was genetic and had started long before me, that is what I remember and try with all my might to stop at this generation. I have not brought the dysfunction into my house andthat is my gift and legacy to my deceased and broken dad and the mom who loves me with all her might today.
Thank you for sharing this and for making it ok for those of us who have lived with a shameful childhood far roo long to feel the sweet relief of knowing the past is past..to live in the now.
Far too gorgeous for words..thank you so much for sharing yours. Xoxo
Oh, Kir: I am so sorry.
For all the children who had this as their childhood memory, I am so sorry.
I was fortunate beyond words to have the love and care of my precious Abuela who came to live with us after my dad’s suicide when I was 6.
If it weren’t for, my life would’ve been something I’m afraid to even imagine.
Yes, I was very lucky.
As the expression goes, “there is beauty in the ugly.”
“But living in shame and secret does the opposite of what we think it does: it doesn’t protect us. It leaves us isolated and unknown and not a part of anything.” Wise words Alexandra. I have great appreciation for the things you have shared. I know some children who have been living that phrase because of fear and finally found their voice. They are now in upheaval but on the way to a hopefully more sane world. The more who share the more others will find healing. Your honesty is a blessing.
Thank you, Ms G.
I wish I would have known to say something, but there was an understanding, a silent understanding, in our home: don’t tell.
Ah, healing words, Empress. I thank you today. xo
Oh, my sweet wonderful Deb.
I have such great memories of you.
Thanks for stopping by.
Such beautiful soul, inside and out, my dear.
This hit home for me today. My husband for the first time is acknowledging that the physical/emotional abuse and neglect he suffered as a child was wrong, and not his fault. He has lived with shame and guilt his whole life, and has recently been open to finally healing and realizing it’s okay to think about it and process it. Thank you for writing this.
Katie: the most wonderful thing you can do is listen. Just listen.
When someone is heard, they gain an identity.
Rather than be imprisoned in shame, they live a life of passion. What once froze them now motivates them.
For April’s Child Abuse Prevention Month, I hope that anyone who needs to be heard, is heard.
What amazes me most about this letter is that you, Alexandra, have lived to be who you are, an amazing mother and friend and nurturer of so many after being brought up in dysfunction.
An abusive family hits very close to home for me. Not my own but someone I love dearly and it amazes me the mark it leaves on life, the guilt that can be carried on for years and years going forward.
I’m so glad you give these people a voice.
Oh, J. Truer words don’t exist.
It makes for a broken adult until telling the truth and leaving it where it belongs, away from them, sets them free.
I know.
Thank you for writing this Alexandra. Powerful and needed. xo
Thank you, Tracy.
I would look at children with the loving homes, and pray to be adopted.
Of course, that never happened, but it was my whispered prayer every night.
Now I work hard to give my children laughter, LOUD laughter, and hugs so tight they hurt. Every day.
There is never a post of yours that I read that I don’t say, “amazing.” This will be a comfort to many, I am sure.
Thank you, Gigi. Thank you.
I know this will reach ears that need it today, in some way. Thank you for writing it. And thank you for being an example of living it and making it ok to live through it.
You know, you’re right. My Listen To Your Mother Reading resulted in an email from someone that has become a real life friend.
She turned to me, and I listened. And now I turn to her, knowing she won’t judge me.
The beauty of taking that risk.
I love your words, and the way that you wrap your heart around them.
Thank you for living openly for you, yes, but also for anyone else who may have needed to read this today.
xo
Thank you, Galit.
How do we separate the threads from what makes up our life? You can’t only take the golden ones. They all hold the work together. And without the dark ones, I wouldn’t be the mother I am to my children.
Though I know they wonder why their mom is so crazy with the kisses and the hugs.
Thank you for sharing your story =). I agree with the concept of living openly, but can’t quite commit to it. I don’t know if it’s shame I feel. And it’s not that I dislike the pity. It comes from deeper. It’s this feeling of wanting to be truly understood. To have someone clasp your face in their hands look straight into your eyes and say, “I am sorry this happened to you. This does not define who you are but helps me understand you better. You are more than your past and I am so glad to be in your present.” That is the perfect response in my opinion. To acknowledge your pain and hardship, the effect that it will always have on you, and to show your support. I keep my mouth closed because I know its unlikely I’ll ever get quite the response I’m looking for.
Marta:
I’d love to email with you and talk. My decision came after tiring of being judged. There was a woman I knew, know no longer, who berated and lectured me on hanging on to old grudges.
I unleashed everything that happened to me and then realized: I need to speak on this.
None was my fault, I will not get the response I want, but I won’t be ashamed anymore for something I didn’t do.
So, now I speak: and I feel so happy having no secrets. So very happy.
I do hope you email me. I really would like to talk with you.
Oh, my heart. Wise, beautiful words.
There are things I cannot share on my blog, but I find comfort in this, in you and your story.
You are a treasure, Alexandra. A radiant light.
Heidi, people like you have me say prayers of thanks for the day I got on the internet 4 years ago.
I have found acceptance.
I love you.
This was beautiful. The last few years I finally broke free from feeling like anything I did would disappoint my parents because I came from divorced parents.
But finally I broke free and have begun to live openly.
Great letter!
Live freely are the perfect words. To live those old feelings behind and grow into our new skin. And become who we were meant to be. Not someone new but someone rediscovered.
Thank you so much for stopping by. Thank you.
“Let your truth become your connection to the world.” These are powerful words. Thank you so much for this beautiful message.
Thank you, Julia.
Thank you for hearing what I have to say, loving on me, and accepting me by not telling me that no one’s life is perfect or ideal and to just get over it and move on.
Thank you so much.
Beautiful, Alexandra. I especially loved this part:
“What I want you to know is that you are not what happened to you. Your life is a part of you, but it’s not the whole you.” Definitely strikes a chord. Thank you for putting that into words.
Thank you so much, Liz.
It’s hard to separate, but we have to do the work to put it in a box and then far away from us.
It’s who we are, but not all that we are.
We can be shaped by it, but not ruled by it.
Thank you so much, so much, for coming by to show support.
It touches me deeply. Thank you.
“Let your truth be the thing that connects you…”
Perfect.
I did not grow up in this kind of environment but “live openly” has struck a timely chord with me today. Oh so timely.
Open. Honest. Scary. Worthwhile.
Oh, Jenni girl, you’re my friend.
My too close for words forever friend.
xo
This line here is so true:
you are not what happened to you.
But.
You take what happened to you and use it to help others.
You have the control now. The helplessness is no longer. And by owning it, you coax others to do the same.
And your boys? Oh my. How you love them; you make sure they know every single day of their lives that they are cherished.
It is a miracle.
You are miraculous.
Thank you, Julie.
If we don’t live who we are: why are we even here? Why all the suffering? If we can’t take that suffering and use it as a hand to others, then what’s the pain for??
Thank you, for always being here to support me.
That was so very touching. I know I came from a home similar to what you described and getting to where I am now was a journey. I only recently shared my own story and as hard as it was to tell the whole of it, it was also freeing. Thank you for sharing your thoughts. I am sure it is helping countless others.
Thank you, Paulette.
When I told my story, I felt as if I could float away from the lightness.
Just like a feather.
Thank you, for getting it.
I didn’t think it was possible to love you even more.
This is just beautiful. Give these children/adults a voice. Encourage them to talk so that others can take comfort.
I am not sure if I could ever write openly about my experience only because I fear that if the person ever found my blog, things would get hairy.
It’s odd that even after 31 years, I’m still terrified of this person.
Sad.
xoxo
Kimberly, can I tell you? I can’t even listen to the sound of my husband pulling his belt out of his pants loops without getting shivers.
After all these years…
My lovely…
While I grew up in a lovely, caring, wonderful home, every day I see students who don’t want to go home. They would rather roam the halls of school and get told to leave the building, than face what is at home.
This post, in my heart, is for them.
Those who can always hang out in my classroom until I leave for the day.
Oh, K.
You just know it
I was one of those kids.
Dragging my feet, taking my time, seeing no need to rush home….
Thanks for giving those kids the smile, the eye contact, the kind words and the pat on the back they ache for.
Wow, that is incredibly deep and thought-provoking!! What a beautiful letter and so amazingly touching and inspirational.
Thank you for this letter. It’s the kind of thing to print and keep handy for rough days. I’ve had a few lately, as I worry about my parenting skills, if I’m doing the right things, and wondering how someone can know such things when there was no model to follow. I linked to your letter in my latest post.
Thank you.
Just tonight, I had a member of my family verbally attack me for telling too much of family secrets.
Because they choose to not be open, why does that have to be my choice?
Her words were, “we were in agreement to keep this in the family.”
What agreement? Who agreed? I know I didn’t.
Your truth will knock at your door until you find yourself screaming it from the rooftops.