The child within.

I found this graphic to be so meaningful. It truly expresses how I often feel. I have this adult sized body but inside there is this little girl. She has so many needs that require attention yet those sorts of needs are not easily met.
To be held, cared for… mothered…
To be protected, worthy of consideration… fathered…

I am at a loss of what to say now.

Just saying what I have already said admits far more than I ever allow others to see in me. It shows that I am needy. Not totally whole. Like there are parts of me missing… and there are.
There is nothing inherently wrong with me. There never was.
I should feel needy. My needs were not met.
I am not whole. I was not given the chance to become whole before I was shattered to pieces. I was whole when I was born but that was taken away from me.

Many months ago, a therapist tried to reassure me that my world is safe now. That it is “very unlikely” that I will ever be the victim of a crime again.
He was/is right but why can’t I accept that?
It is because my life was constantly filled with unlikely.

When I came home from the hospital as a full term, good weight, healthy baby girl born to well-to-do parents in a safe place, who would have ever imagined the life I would lead would be so filled with unlikely events?
Wasn’t it unlikely that my mother wouldn’t care one tad about me?
Wasn’t it unlikely that my father would prefer to stick his head in the sand rather than admit that I needed help. That I needed a way out?
Was it likely that teachers, social workers, the police, doctors and surgeons would be so easily convinced that the only one doing any harm to me was me?

Is it likely that today at the age of 45, I can still be brought down by my mothers lies?
No one can even begin to understand how soul-destroying that is.
Is it likely that my father would choose to finally accept that he knew what was going on and was sorry only to turn around 3 hours later and brand me as a sociopath to protect his own arse?

None of my life has been likely. There has never been a time where things were just “normal”.
And yeah… its been horrible.

You know what else was unlikely?
Me surviving… but I did.

Is it likely that I’d be able to write a blog that very rarely wallows in self-pity?
No.

Is it likely that I’d run my own support group and actually have enough healing under my belt to be able to offer ideas and insight to others?
No.

Is it likely that I’d be creative in a way that seems to reach somewhere deep inside people?
No.

Is it likely that I’d be married? Have successful children? Have an amazing group pf in-laws who’ve shown me what a family really is. The good, the bad, the ugly and the hilarious?
No.

Is it likely that I’d be blessed with good friends and people who truly care?
No.

Is it likely that I would ever truly begin to heal even though what was done to me would render most people impossible to save?
No.

You know what? My unlikely life can stay that way.
I want to see what unlikely thing I can find to do next.