My Truth

Penny and I rarely get time to do each other’s hair.  On that rare occasion when we do it is usually at an off hour.  We use that time to catch up on things.  It may be about client concerns, new ideas for education or rearranging and updating the salon.  And, sometimes, it gets personal.  Yesterday, it got personal.

We were talking about my blog.  And, somehow the conversation led into our past history and things we have been through in our lives.  Penny said she feels like I have lived a lifetime longer than she has and, well, she might be right.  One thing you need to know about Penny.  She is one of the sweetest and kindest, most genuine people I know.  She is a tough cookie on the outside but when she lets you in, you see how kind and compassionate she is underneath.  Penny always pays me the highest compliments.  I feel undeserving of these on so many levels.  She thinks I am some hair doing/ mom-of-four super hero.  I feel like I am a passionate wanna be super hero still searching for her cape.  I try not to let on to this, but the fact is, when the past is brought up, so is the source of all the insecurities.

I prayed when I started this blog for it to be an authentic me.  I wanted nothing to be taboo and I wanted to show who I am and hopefully, someone out there would be able to relate.  Talking to Penny made me realize, I can’t move forward until the voices of the past are quieted.  And, I have kept it in for way too long.

I was a child of privilege.  We lived in a big house and just like Penny thinks I am some superhero, my family was looked at as “that” family.  I felt my friends were envious of the house I lived in and the lifestyle I led.  As a preteen and teenager, money was no object.  But, little did they know how much I was suffering from within the walls of that house.  And, if I dare say anything, I was certain I would be looked at as both a liar and a spoiled brat.  (Well, that was what I was told I was, so why wouldn’t I believe it?)

For so many years, I thought the life I led was normal.  I was raised in a very devoutly religious home.  I thought the way things were in my home were because of the religion.  The lines for me as a child were very blurred.  Where did the strict rules of religion and the rules of our home start and end?  I had no idea.  And, I had no idea when I would be hit with vicious rants of verbal abuse for not being what I was “supposed” to be.  In my preteen and teenage years, I was called things that to this day, I have never been called by anyone else. My little sister would hide under the bed while I was brutally attacked with names like “slut” and “whore”.  It was so much more than this.  It was a mind game for me.  It was abuse, but I didn’t know it.  It was a quiet secret I have carried with me until today.  Sure I have taken moments in counseling to talk about it.  And, sometimes I have confided in my partner.  But never have I ever said the words, “I was a child who was verbally abused”.  Instead, I have let the tapes play over and over again in my head like a recording.  Sometimes the volume is turned up a little louder than others.  Sometimes, they are put on pause.  But, at times when I am feeling the weakest, it is like giant speakers at a concert are blaring right in my ears all the hurt from the past.

I have not made the best decisions in my life.  I am both a child of divorce and a mother of children who are victims of my poor choices.  I refuse to play the victim.  I made these choices based off of my knowledge of men.  I married a man the first time around just like my abuser.  I knew early on it was a situation I couldn’t stay in when the abuse became physical.  So I ran.  And I continued to run for many years.  From facing the past, facing the hurt and healing.

I was a mom who used to yell.  A lot.  I knew that was how things were handled right?  It wasn’t until a terrible altercation with my teenage daughter that I had the “aha” moment.  I was doing exactly what had been done to me.  It was so jolting to me, I was brought to my knees.  My neighbors, my husband, my ex husband all saw me “lose it”.  I was exactly what I had tried so hard not to be.  That was two and a half years ago.  I have not “lost it” since that day.  And, I vow not to ever do that again.

I believe many creative/artistic people use their talents as a way to heal.  When I am working with my clients and creating a new look, everything else melts away.  My “work” isn’t work for me.  It is a creative release.  Not only am I healing myself but I am making another look and feel better.

Through my job, I have formed some incredible relationships with my clients.  And, some of the clients I have become the closest to are the ones from the very religion I was raised in and had so many struggles with.  It isn’t until now, at 37 years old, I realize IT HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THE RELIGION.  I am so thankful for these people.  They have become some of my closest friends.  And, whether they realize it or not, they have been part of my healing process.

So, I guess my question to you is what are you running from?  And when is it finally going to be time to let it go to heal and move forward?  I hope you have an outlet like I do.  For me, it’s HAIRAPY.

Believe.