My child, know your loved.

Now first and foremost let me say as I write this, it’s not a search for sympathy. I’m not wanting anyone to feel sorry for me. (Lord knows I do enough of this myself) But today I was chatting through messenger to two amazing women, both going through a really rough time (to put it mildly), both just needing an outstretched hand… that kind word or two. I’m out of practice these days. In my past life I helped on an agoraphobia help group as admin… just being there for folks. I loved it. It gave me a sense of purpose and great satisfaction when my outstretched hand actually touched some one’s life, threw them that lifeline. (So here I am digressing again.) Anyway, I tried my best to find a word or two of comfort, but what struck me when I was done was this overwhelming sadness.

In with that was an anger mixed, and if you know me you know I have rejected anger over the years, choosing to let it go if someone upsets me. I try seeing it their way or what drove them to this, how they formed this conclusion, answer. This helps settle me. I cannot remember the last time I actually felt any real rage inside, that red mist, the need to scream or just throw something, but here I was with this rage building at the rate of knots deep inside. (Why you’re asking?)

Well before me were two of the most beautiful, vivacious, bright woman I know, both reaching out to someone who, let’s face it, isn’t much better off. But they needed someone, anyone… that voice in the dark, that hand to hold. And, knowing how that feels, how low you get to reach out to a stranger, sat behind a screen, I gave the only thing I could: my time. (So why so angry your thinking?) Well, because, as I say, both these ladies are, in my estimation, amazing, but life, people, and sheer exhaustion has bought them low. And all I could do is offer words. I’m angry because I can’t hold them. I can’t make it all okay. I can’t tell them ‘tomorrow it’s going to be fine‘.

So, I settle for words. I tell them I love them, and I do, as I never say these words without truly meaning them. But when I left I looked across at my baby picture cellotaped on the white door over from my bed… that same picture I stare at many times when I can’t sleep. And I long to hold this child, for this child was born to never know a kind word, never hear the words ‘I love you‘, never feel a loving hand or told ‘I’m proud of you‘. Instead she knew blows, taunts. She knew harsh words, lies and a lifetime of hell. (Now where you going with this you’re asking?)

Well I get so angry for myself and not just me, but hundreds like me. Because we don’t stay children. Each one of us, as children who have never known a kind word in our lives, grow up to become disjointed, disbelieving our own value, self worth. We grow thinking that we deserve nothing good, no one good in our lives.

There I lay in my dark bedroom, still in the jaws of my own depression, trying to reach out to these ladies, give them some comfort, tell them just how amazing they are. They are working so hard to survive, to find the strength to make it through that long long day. Both these ladies have been hurt, both have known exceptionally hard lives and I admire them greatly.

Then I realised: I’ve many such ladies in my life, my own daughter being one. She grew up knowing her mum loved her. I’ve always been so very proud of her, too, but she strove so hard to get both the men/fathers in her life to love her.

This effected her whole life. She grew up trying so hard to be what they wanted, trying to turn herself inside out to please. And along the way my sweet child lost part of her. (This saddens me deeply.) I’ve tried so often to impart the thing I’ve learnt over these months, each time I look across at my photo on that door. I long to take hold of that baby and say ‘Listen, honey… no matter what is told to you, no matter how many blows you take, how many cruel words, you’re okay. It’s never about you, it’s something lacking in them. You were born innocent and perfect, as we all are‘. What I think I’m saying is from birth some of us are set up to have these incredibly hard lives, whether it’s a bad childhood which, lets face it, then sets us up most times for low self esteem, or a lifetime of having no value in ourselves. We struggle to learn, to get on later in the workplace, then onto a marriage that, quite frankly, just makes things a whole lot worse.

What can we do about this? Well when someone reaches out, don’t just say the words you think they want to hear. Listen. I mean really HEAR each other, that sadness, that cry in the dark, that lonely voice begging to be heard. I spent 55 years of my life never knowing one moment of understanding, tenderness… never knowing the feel of an outstretched hand, one that wouldn’t let me go when things got tough. The first time I knew any gentleness, a soft voice, was when I woke in the middle of the night on our first night together to feel Jesse brush back my hair from my forehead. I saw gentle eyes look into mine. Before this, all I knew was the harshness of words, how they kept you low to control, to abuse… my body either used or treated as a slave.

There are many of us out there right now knowing so little of how to escape our situations. No support… never knowing where to turn or how to in times of crisis, or just for advice. Some just need to talk. Some just need told ‘this isn’t your fault, you were and are perfect… you are amazing human beings‘. My daughter, whether she knows this or not, is one of them, and to me she’s one of the most beautiful things I ever produced in my life, as are my sons. I know I’m rambling here but please reach out to each other. Share a little of your time. Your words could do what two people’s kindness did for me: allowed me escape a private hell.

Just spare a thought for someone tonight sat alone and scared. Call. Get in touch. I know it’s tiring, but give them that hand to hold. Be that soft voice for a short while. It really does make all the difference. I’ve now a man in my life who has to reassure a million times a day at times, but this he does with love and understanding. He reminds me he’s there and loves me through so very much, for which I never thank him enough. He’s my love, my hero, and I will never forget the night a soft hand touched me just to impart love for that very first time. It will stay with me for the rest of my life, even if I never feel this again. Please… for those of you lost in your own private hells right now, reach out to someone… anyone. Please… if not for you then for those that love you, stay strong.