I learned in therapy, if you can’t recall a memory, it’s because it doesn’t exist.

I learned from a wise old woman, that it’s ok to shudder when you think of someone, it’s a trauma response and it actually helps move that negativity out of the crevices inside the darkest parts of you.

I learned through inner child meditations, that sometimes parents fuck up, and they make decisions that echo into their children’s adult life.

I learned from bravo’s real housewives that hurt people hurt people.

I learned from my father how to expect and allow a man to treat me. But it wasn’t at all what you’d expect.

I was probably in 6th or 7th grade. Honestly it might have been 5th and I’m gauging solely based off my memory of the swimsuit I was wearing. I got it with my mom at the H&M under the escalator in crossgates mall. It was the cute little board short bottoms with a pretty modest tube top with straps. It was turquoise with brown daisies sewn in with shimmering thread. I know you can picture it – it’s screaming 90’s with the color combo alone. And as I’m recalling this memory I’m interrupted in my own head by the deafening sound of my father and what he said. And I almost have to say this to brace myself; because it’s truly such a terrible memory. A memory I’d bring up to him until I live in the house I’m typing this blog from today. A memory no girl should ever have of her father. A memory I’ve never written about or typed out, but one I’ve shared with the people who I trust the most. So though I know there are women and girls out there with far worse stories about their childhoods, this has haunted me for decades.

Maybe it’s the fact that I feel this slow, pulling descent into age 40. Where I’m releasing all the things and people that no longer serve me, my well being, and my highest self. Where I shed the weight of people who knew me once, and things they’ve said and assumed about me. Maybe it’s because it’s a story I feel like I need to tell. Because one simple comment from my father while I was in a two piece, landed me on a road I never wanted to be on. A road that led me to unworthy men my father gave his blessing to. A road that had me questioning what the actual fuck I was doing in certain situations. A road that allowed me to cloud my own judgement based off the love I didn’t receive from a man I never remember calling daddy.

“Look whose covering the Super Bowl this year, it’s Breezy the blimp”

Breezy the blimp. I didn’t even understand the insult, but I remember my mother’s face looking horrified and I remember that meant I should have felt embarrassed too. Then I remember jumping into the hotel pool on Christmas Eve in New Jersey. A favorite tradition of mine until that night.

As the years flew by I was made fun of a lot. For being fat. People in school making up awful nicknames for me. I remember giving my yearbook out at lunch, and later that night opening it up to my 9th grade picture and seeing the word FAT written across my own face. I had highschool boys making fun of my weight, and I couldn’t even cry to my dad, because he thought the same thing.

I can already feel myself struggling again to share more, before I preface it by saying how amazing all the men currently in my life are. Just like, really good men. And obviously and especially, my husband. Also to add that healthy relationships are attainable even when you’ve been bruised into believing they aren’t.

I had no way of knowing this then, but that memory would go on to place me in several unhealthy relationships and even one abusive one. This is a spot of my life I’m still not comfortable sharing out loud with the internet, but it was a collection of extremely traumatic experiences over the course of two years and I’m still not sure I’m over it. Or if you ever get over something like that. Mental and physical abuse is absolutely nothing to speak lightly on, or something I have the energy to spend on in this blog post. But trust me when I say that type of pain changes people. Some for the worse and some for the better. I have God to thank for letting me be shining on the silver lining of that black cloud of a relationship I clawed myself away from. That experience shaped the way I looked at men, the way I picked my future, and the way I parent my sons and daughter.

Once I met Dan I knew he was different than any guy I’d ever dated. Though we were young and both on the rebound, we knew it was real and we knew it would be forever. Not to say we didn’t have some stuff to iron out along the way, because God knows; we still do.

Upon first glance he was one hundred percent my type, but his heart and his mind, they were different. And so the greatest love story of my life began. My father never really liked my husband. It caused a lot of stress, and for me I was still bruised by so many different experiences with my own father and guys I’d dated that I wasn’t always sure Dan was it, but in the same breath, I knew I’d never find anyone as good as Dan. But that was part of the mental aspect. I was always questioning my own judgement.

And so, the way things go, people die and families fight. People point the finger at anyone but themselves and refuse therapy and growth and even reality slapping them upside the head doesn’t phase them. And then, families fall apart. And before you realize it’s been years since you spoke to your own father. And in the face of that sadness, I can say it’s really beautiful being able to watch my husband with my boys and especially our girl, be the opposite of who my dad was. It heals my inner child on a regular basis. A genuine gift I never expected.

Out of all the things I learned, I remember my mother always knowing when “my spark was dull.” She had said it to me a few times in my life, and every time she was right. I like to think, even though my mother was married to my father; her, a loyal and devoted, doting wife, she knew he wasn’t all good. And maybe that’s fucked up that she stayed with him, or maybe it’s beautiful. What I do know, is my mother always stood up for me. And she gave me the courage to stand up to the people who wronged me. And eventually that meant I stood up to my father. I stood up to my abusive boyfriend. And to this day, I will stand up to anyone who disrespects me. Some people hate that about me, some people love it.

Body positivity, self love – it’s all so vague. And everyone has their own version tethered to their own experiences. My self love journey started with learning how to communicate. Then confidence came from looking my father in his face and telling him “you were wrong, and you are the reason I chose horrible men” he would never accept ownership. My confidence came from looking at a piss poor excuse for a man and telling him “you will never put your hands on me again” and meaning it. He also never accepted ownership. After those two convictions were mine, I harnessed a power within me I still can’t quite articulate with words.

It’s the power that says, I am exactly who I say I am, and if you don’t like it you can leave. It says I know who I am. I mean what I say. And with this I can rest my head every night on my pillow in peace knowing that my actions will always match my words. That I am worthy of love that is vast and safe. That my value is greater than anyone’s opinion of the small fraction of my life they assume to know. And that my choices come directly from a life filled with more pain than I’d ever admit to or dwell in. Because instead, I choose to dance in peace. I choose to look for the silver lining. I try to be the light I wish to see. Because I choose people who are warm and lovely.

So if you ever see me post a picture of my body, or a good hair day, or a proud mom moment, or brag on my husband, smile for me. Because it took me my entire lifetime to get exactly where I am today. It took me speaking through tears, nights of crying myself to sleep, feeling afraid in my most vulnerable state, realizing I was begging for relationships that were damaging, apologizing when I did not want to, forgiving when I didn’t want to, and shaking with anxiety, making myself crazy thinking – what is wrong with me?

And then one day, I decided I was worth more than all of that. I began to thank God for all the unanswered prayers and started practicing gratitude; for the experiences, for the joy, for the pain, and all the grit and heart that came in between. I choose to dwell in peace, and that’s what gives me the confidence I have today.

Happy girls are the prettiest. Yes. But also, girls who are happy know how to dig deep, ask for help, seek therapy, grow, forgive, apologize, pray, give, and love without any conditions. Those girls G L O W. And the awesome part is – there’s room here for all of us 👑

Thank you for reading. And if you ever need to talk, I’m here 💕

XO b.