For thirty-three years, I have focused on being seen, not heard. It was a guideline I was to live by as a child, and I carried it with me into adulthood. I learned early that no one could be trusted. But I also picked up that some were more easily controlled than others, at least from my vantage point. So, I surrounded myself with men. Had I told this story ten years ago, I would have claimed I kept male friends because I trusted them more than women. That’s about half the truth.  

Imagine the man versus bear scenario. With a bear, you know what to expect. Same is true for women versus men. I knew what to expect from men. The same old song and dance-they’re physical threats. So, if I could immediately give up what they wanted or at minimum be willing to, I was safer. Women, on the other hand, rely heavily on psychological warfare. It’s like slingshots to nukes for me. Or was.  

It all feels essentially the same now. The variance before was only because I had been taught to offer myself up in that way. I was taught that offering myself as a visual and physical stimulus was the standard. I can see I subconsciously made efforts to distort my image so as to attract less attention. Though I’m not sure packing on 100 extra pounds is the way to attract less attention. 

There was a lot of baggage in that weight. It wasn’t just from overeating or eating the wrong things. It was an insurmountable amount of inflammation from the stress eating away at my body. It was like all the years I had spent wishing to die, my body was secretly working to make that wish a reality.  

The sad part is I didn’t even know the extent of my own pain. I knew my childhood wasn’t great, I knew I was desperately depressed. But depression “ran in the family.” And I could recite some of the things that happened. In my mind, if I could tell you what happened and I knew it happened, that meant I should be fine. So why was I crying so fucking much? 

I was sad over the smallest things, my cousins still laugh at my crying during Barnyard. I know now that was just some of my grief spilling over. Grief I never felt for myself or the things I lost. I used to get so frustrated with all of the crying, I had no reason to cry. I had a what appeared to be a great life. I’m so glad someone finally took the blinders off.  

That’s what it felt like, having blinders removed.  I was so narrowly focused on what I thought my life was supposed to be that I could not see the full picture. What I experienced in my childhood was not healthy, but I didn‘t know that yet. Not truly. I didn’t realize then that the experiences of my past had a significant impact on my present. And I certainly didn’t realize it put me at a higher risk for further victimization.  

It still didn’t come so easily once the blinders were off. I first tried the spiritual bypass route. I prayed and I meditated, I acted more positively, I handed it all off to God. And she handed it right back and said, try again. I found myself repeating the same patterns, feeling absolutely hopeless again. It wasn’t until I really sat down with myself and listened to what I had been trying to tell me all along that I fully understood. There’s not a quick way out of this. We must go through all the things we didn’t have time, energy, space or ability to do in the past.  

With that, a lot of repressed memories have surfaced. Experiences and people that I had completely blocked out. Far worse and much more overt than the ones I could previously recite. As for those, they hurt like hell when I stopped to think about it. I’ve cried even more these past six months, but I’m no longer frustrated or confused by it. I can identify where the emotions are coming from, and I can cry with purpose now.  

Writing has helped a lot in this journey and is particularly helpful in this stage of it. I’m no longer living by “be seen and not heard.” I’m going to be both. I’m going to take up the space I was meant to in the ways I want. Not in ways others find appeasing or what may garner the most attention, but for me.  

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