Often we are faced growing up in a household of broken people. This isn’t to excuse the abuse or pain we endure, but is to remind us that we have scars that sometimes seem to never heal. Some of us are the victims of abuse and some of us aren’t. I hope you aren’t. If you are, I hope this post brings you great comfort.

In the story of Persephone, she goes down to live with Hades half the year. I often wonder how her mother felt about a teenage girl living with a man who she barely knew. They were royals, sure. But it still makes me wonder.

In my life, I would do everything in my power to get away from home. My mom and dad would always abuse me (emotionally, verbally, mentally), and then gaslight me into apologizing for it. She would always say it was my fault because she was the victim of abuse and I should have compassion.

I joined multiple clubs, even staying in ones where I was bullied.

I took refuge in academics.

I volunteered in church.

I even started my own theatre production once.

I produced and wrote short films.

Still all my mom told me was that I would never be worth anything because I was too fat. She didn’t care about me. At dinner, the conversations would never be about what I was doing. I’d speak up and get steamrolled over by everyone. I would never get asked about my day or my hobbies, and my parents took extensive time off of work for my brother and his robotics team. When I directed a theatre production, neither of my parents came to either of the shows. They would say I didn’t want them to, when the reality was, they had planned something else instead of seeing my accomplishments.

When it came time for college, I moved across the country and planned to never once look back.

A lot has happened since then.

I realize that the abusive guy I first met when I moved out on my own in Phoenix was exactly like my mother. He never really cared about me. He loved me for caring about him, but he didn’t want anything to do with me past that.

Mind games and trickery remind me of home.

People said he loved me.

I was battered and bruised and blamed for all of it and ignored every time I asked for an apology or an ounce of accountability. But still I got out. I was broken and scared, but I escaped.

The next guy was better.

He made normal mistakes.

There’s normal things people mistakenly do in relationships. And when they accept fault and responsibility for those, and are willing to accept that if they don’t change, then they don’t deserve you? That’s so much healthier.

It doesn’t mean you have to be okay with the mistakes they’ve made. It means you have to show up for yourself and decide where the lines you’re drawing are. What changes are required?

With my family, they forced me to move back home because they wanted to keep me safe.

It helped for a bit, but I’m back in a place where my parents disdain for my well being and stability is taking a toll on me. Their passive aggressive behavior and approach to me is not healthy.

Sometimes I wonder if Persephone chose six months with her mother because her mother drove her crazy and six months with Hades because he also wasn’t perfect.

Sometimes I wonder what she was going through that led her to believe that a fifty-fifty split was the best thing for her, or if she had much choice.

Like Persephone, I was stuck between not knowing if there was really anything else out there. I was being told by my family that I was being abused, while the cops were telling me I was abusive, the apartment was being vindictive, and I was still recovering from a psychotic break.

I just wanted to rest.

I wanted to sleep.

I wanted to cry.

I didn’t want to pack up and move.

But I didn’t get to choose.

And if you’re in a position where you’re forced by someone who abuses you, to follow them, it’s okay, this is only a step in your journey.

XOXO,

Dorothy B