I was born a child, did not stay that way for too long. Moving between object and pawn, pacifier and supplicant. Responsibility became my attribute, those who loved me, needed me, abused me. Taking care of those who loved me a daily experience, love became a bartered thing, a tarnished coin, earned through suffering and patience.
I became an adult early, responsible for other’s lives, hardly mine. My needs ignored, driven by the determination to break the cycle. I would be the mother I never had to my children, they would never doubt my love.
Those who are abused it is said become abusers, I fought to make this a lie. Sadly we make different mistakes. I did not abuse my children but I was a burden, a weight they carried. Delicate, troubled they nevertheless loved me but I wish I had been boring for them.
It was I who closed her voice, I who disregarded her. Hard though it is to know that fact, there is peace in acceptance. Combining who I have been for so long with who I am becoming, now I hear her voice and acknowledge her, is terrifying but exhilarating.
But I wish I could give that child her life back, I wish I could give her what all children need. That time is gone but I can try to give her comfort now. I rage against those who took her childhood from her, I speak out now, I listen to her voice now, I tell the world now