Once upon a time there was a little girl. Like most little girls she laughed and danced and ran and jumped. She was loud and fun and a tad bit silly. Of course we all know how that story tends to end.
Slowly, over time, there was a little less dancing and laughing and even less running and jumping. She grew quit and reserved. Of course no one noticed. How could they? They were always consumed by their work. Sometimes that was the office project or the daily cleaning. Taking a sibling to practice or needing to feed the baby. They don’t notice how we disappear. They just praise us for not being so loud and not needing anything and handling everything without batting an eye.
However, that was never my story.
I was born with my eyes open. I am the oldest daughter of the oldest daughter and I was born ready to take on the world. I just didn’t know it at the time.
On my shoulders I carry the generational trauma of both my parents. I bear the wight of their efforts to break those chains. While they succeeded in some aspects they failed in others, and yet, I never faulted them for that. I never blamed them and always did my best to understand their origin, their pain, their hurt. It never seemed enough.
For a while that light that I was born with dimmed and it almost dimmed to the point of being extinguished. They saw me drowning and only said that there had to be something wrong with me because how dare I be unhappy that they weren’t beating me to a pulp every other day. How dare I be so ungrateful about not having to cook dinner for my family every night and be treated as mother and wife my entire childhood.
I am my parents’ daughter and while the parents of the year award would have never been theirs, they have always been one hell of a man and one hell of a woman.
They taught me many valuable things. They taught me how to clean. They taught me to be organized and prepared. They taught me that I always had more to give. I am who I am because of them. I owe them the world, but not my life. I saw them; I saw them outside of their marriage, outside of parenthood and I saw them in it too and I swore to never be like them.
Because cleaning is obsesive and neurotic. I worry about everything all the time without rest, so I always try to have everything on hand or at the very least in my mind. And nothing ever feels like it’s enough.
I saw a union that worked out of necessity. A necessity that was no longer needed. I saw it end and I saw them remain.
Once upon a time there was a little girl. Her light was almost permanently dimmed. But, then she grew up and she saw it all. And she said no more. She took some kerosene and said let it burn. And she did, she burns. She burns and swears she will not live the same fate.
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