Hope and Trauma; A Cycle
Growing up was a mess, so I made a vow to my unborn children: You will have the best of me. The love my parents couldn't give, I promised to pour out in floods. I clawed through the ache of a childhood starved of warmth, clinging to the hope that I could build something better. Academics - checked. Job - secured. Husband - found. But I married a man still bleeding from his own unhealed wounds . Two broken people don’t make a whole. They just bleed on each other. So even before I could hold my pristine child, the furnace of marital strife had already scorched the softness in me. I became the version of my mother I swore I’d never be. And my father? His ghost lives in me too; passive aggression leaking out like stench from an open sewer. I thought I was free. I thought I’d left lies behind. But my own faults stacked up like cargo, and suddenly, I was always on the defensive. Then came the comet's flash ; that bright, burning promise of the mother I’d be. But it died before it ev...
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