In my previous post, The Beginning, I talked about my parents and how that influenced my attachment style. In this post, I’ll talk about my life growing up.
When I was around five, my dad coached a soccer team that I was a part of, and this was a fun memory (until I decided it was too much running and didn’t want to play anymore). My dad would also take me fishing when I was little, which was one of my favorite past times with him. My mom would do my hair, which was sometimes fun and sometimes a hassle (I was a bit of a tomboy).
Let’s skip straight to an event that happened when I was about 7 years old (warning, traumatic event). When I was 7 years old, I was raped, and my memories were completely blocked or foggy for a very long time. Now, I remember the confusion and the wanting to ask for help. I remember the fear and hopelessness. But I also remember not telling my parents for fear that it would make things worse. (My previous post, The Beginning, can give some reasoning as to why I didn’t want to tell my parents.) This hopelessness and fear followed me throughout life, even when my memories were repressed (I didn’t remember the event until towards the end of college).
Within the next year, I had forgotten the event, but I started struggling with masturbation. I didn’t know at the time that it had a name or even what it was exactly. I just knew part of me felt good, while another part of me felt as though I were doing something wrong. I found out about the time I was 10 what it was called and I used google and different church websites to help me figure out why it felt wrong – because it was. I felt so ashamed about it, but I didn’t know how to stop. I never told my parents about it.
Around that same time (7 years old), one of my closest friends moved away. About the time I was 9 years old, another one moved away, and another at 11 years old. Now, I was left with no close friends, and this immense shame, partially from masturbation, and partially from the daymares and nightmares I had started experiencing. I felt like it was my fault I was having these daymares and nightmares, like there was some way I could control them. But I couldn’t.
Around the time I was 14, I met Elisabeth. When we first met, I was scared of her and thought she hated me. She did strongly dislike me because I was a people pleaser, placing what people wanted and keeping peace above what I thought was right. However, after dancing to a song together, we were basically friends. A few years after that, her family moved to Oklahoma, and I was heartbroken. Did God just not want me to have any friends? I was getting close to her. Almost close enough to open up about the things I was really struggling with. But Elisabeth and her family moved regardless of whether I wanted them to or not.
As a freshman in high school, I thought Elisabeth and I would never see each other again. But we were determined to stay in touch. So, we would call, FaceTime, and text (at some points in our friendship daily). And sometimes we would just sit on the phone. After a year or two like this, I finally decided she wasn’t going anywhere and it was safe enough to tell her. She heard bits and pieces at first, that I had nightmares sometimes, or that I struggled with shame. Then she heard everything I had. My emotions, my struggles, how difficult it was, everything. She heard about the daymares and nightmares, about the dreams I had (both good and bad), and my fear in striving toward my aspirations. But I’ll talk more about this relationship later.
Let’s go to some years of homeschooling, I want to keep things in chronological order. I was homeschooled from Kindergarten through 7th grade. My mom was a good teacher, and for part of the time, me and my brothers went to co-op once a week (a gathering for homeschool families). My mom would teach us with patience, explaining and giving examples, not becoming angry with us for not understanding. These are some memories I look back on with fondness (except for the times I was learning a new math concept with the curriculum Saxon math).
Once I finished 7th grade, my mom knew she didn’t have the content knowledge to continue teaching me, and she felt like it was time for all of us to go to school. So for 8th grade, my brothers and I went to a private school. I liked it, and I made some friends (but I hadn’t shared everything with them). Then, for my high school years, my parents decided to send us to public school. Coming from Christian homeschooling to public school was a bit of a culture shock.
In high school, I found it difficult to make friends. My friends from the private school and I didn’t keep in touch. I also felt the need to get near perfect scores on all my tests, and take AP classes. This placed unnecessary pressure on myself to study for long hours. I drove myself into loneliness during high school, studying instead of socializing. I also felt this heavy depression. And I had these daymares that wouldn’t go away. I felt hopeless and worthless, no matter how high my achievements were. I became part of National Honors Society. I took dual credit courses. I even became valedictorian at my high school, yet I felt this sense of shame that I couldn’t seem to shake. I was still struggling with masturbation, and that definitely contributed to some feelings of shame and hopelessness.
I also believed that I couldn’t tell my parents anything that I really felt. Every time I had tried, my dad would explain why it wasn’t necessary to feel whatever I was feeling, and my mom would explain why what I was feeling wasn’t correct. From these interactions, I had concluded:
- My parents can’t be trusted with the soft parts of me because they just break those parts
- I cannot trust my emotions, because they are always wrong
By the end of high school, I had come to despise going home to have to hide my feelings. I didn’t remember what had happened when I was 7, but I kept getting these daymares and nightmares with disturbing images and scenes. I felt dirty, worthless, and unlovable. I felt that my opinion didn’t matter. I also thought that no one else was going through what I was going through.
My friend Elisabeth seemed to be the only one who understood, and accepted all of me. She thought my quirky parts were cool, and she didn’t shy away from the hard things I told her. By high school, she was my only close friend. However, when we got together on occasion, we didn’t know what to do together or how to hang out. We googled stuff, tried hypnotism, and tried experimenting with pressure points (like I said, I could be quirky).
This leads into my next post, College. Read on for more about my story!