When joy is a trigger

You know what I’m tired of?

I’m tired of my troubled yesterday haunting my today. I’m fucking sick of it y’all.

Had to just get that out.

Something I’m still learning about childhood trauma is that there is so much that may have been buried in tucked away memories. There truly is no way to remember it all, obviously there are things that stand out more than most. But it’s the little things that sometimes have the biggest impact. And it’s probably because the intention behind them means more.

I’m so scarred that when I hear about what others experienced with their parents, it sounds alien to me.

Things as simple as little traditions, random encouragements or gentle comforts, I didn’t know what it feels like to receive that.

I now realize that I do things for my family because I’m motivated by love. The big things and the small things. The “insignificant” things and the super expensive things. So I can’t help but question what was it about me that didn’t spark that same motivation in my parents. I’ve been wrecking my brain with this question for the entirety of the time I’ve been a father.

I’ll be 51 next month. And for the first time in my entire life, I was gifted my very own Easter basket. Filled to the brim with all the awesome things that I love. What started as a joke with my wife and I resulted in me being surprised with an elaborate display of consideration. It wasn’t until I was looking at it that I realized that no one had ever done this for me. And I couldn’t believe it. No one had ever though enough of me to do this before. And my joy and appreciation instantly triggered anxiety and depression. Before my immediate nuclear family, no one has ever shown me this type of love and consideration. And I can’t help but wonder why…..why was I never worthy of it?

I often think about when I graduated from high school. I was told “good job”, driven home, and that was it.

I often recall how my father laid in bed comfortably while I woke up early, walked through 3 neighborhoods at 4am to catch a bus to go to my summer internship in downtown Dallas, instead of waking up for a 10min drive to drop me at my bus stop.

I often think about how I was left alone with no guidance on how to handle the financial hurdles associated with college. And when things didn’t go my way, I was berated and called a failure.

I often recall being homeless at 20, my father knew about it, even came to Houston and watched me sneak into the apartment the leasing office locked me out of. He took me to eat at Landry’s, bought me a cot for $25, left and never reached back out again. Just left me how he found me.

I often think about my very first birthday party. I was turning 39 years old.

And don’t get me started on my mother.

I wish the fuck I would handle my son like that.

Writing this is necessary to evict the doubts of my self worth. Because I’m truly engulfed in appreciation and love. I was born to be a vessel to show God’s love to those He aligns with my path. And He is faithful to return that love to me. I am grateful for my wife & son letting God use them to remind me exactly who I am.

If you knew what this means to me….

I often wonder how I would react to my parents discovering this blog. In a way, I think it would be good for them.

In another way, I wouldn’t give a Fred Sanford fuck.

Happy Easter!

HE IS RISEN

Peace & love

MGB