Updated: Nov 8, 2020
This past week was heavy.
I was reminded of trauma. I was reminded of oppression. I was reminded of being silenced. I was reminded of injustice and double standards and entitlement.
For so long, I have shrugged it off. Downplayed. Minimized.
"It’s not so bad." "I allowed it." "I chose it." "I have no right to feel the pain." "I have no right to grieve the lost dignity." "I made my bed and I layed in it."
I have resisted calling it by a name, fearing others might call me dramatic. Others prefer it stay in the shadows too, unnamed. Unspoken. Hidden. Some are not ready to see it. Some are not ready to hear it.
Abusive patterns are what I got to see this week. Generations and generations of trauma. Some may see faces next to the title “abuser”. I simply see the faceless patterns and beliefs we have all been abused by. We have become accustomed. We have become convinced and entranced, believing this hierarchy is the way.
Our hearts whisper the truth. Long to be set free. Long to acknowledge our humanity equally.