Being a Survivor

One of my all-time favorite songs is by Reba.
"I was born 3 months too early
the doctor gave me 30 days.
But I must of had my momma's will
and God's amazing grace.
So I guess I'll keep on living even if this love's to die for.
Cause your bags are packed and I'm not crying
You're walking out and I'm not trying to change your mind cause I was born to be.

The baby girl without a chance
A victim of circumstance
The one who ought to give up
But she's just too hard headed
The single mom who works two jobs
Who loves her kids and never stops
With gentle hands and the heart of a fighter
I'm a survivor."

In my random dreams of trying out for American Idol, my first song is ALWAYS this song. Maybe I'll actually do it someday. Who knows?

I feel like this song describes me. I've never been a mother, but I was born 2 months too early. I have no kids of my own, but I have the heart of a fighter.

I've always been proud and stubborn. These were traits that I had developed and that I had carefully guarded, but there was one night in my life when that pride was shattered. I still remember his face and everything that happened that night. I remember how dirty I felt. I remember the vulgarities that he spat at my insecure teenage body. I was so disgusted with everything that happened that the first time I told anyone was 3 years after the event as I was preparing to serve a full-time mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latterday Saints.

I remember crying.
I remember the guilt.

The guilt for something that was never my fault, but that I blamed myself for.

I remember the belittling and crippling addiction I had developed as a way to attempt to understand the pain my heart and body was feeling.
I remember feeling like I had no one to turn to.

Healing from this kind of situation is different for everyone. For me it has taken years and the emotional scars are still visible. I cannot count how many times I have wanted to write this post only to delete it later. I wanted to share a snippet of my story in hope that there's someone else who is hurting, who needs help that I could possibly reach out to, but I was scared of sharing this deepest part of me. Scared of the ridicule that might come, terrified of the judgments that might head my direction, and then I realized that all my fears were selfish. All my fears were geared to protect my cherished "pride".

This is a post for the survivors. This is a post dedicated to admitting that it is OK to not be OK. These are words begging for other survivors to not keep silent. In a world that's torn apart by selfish desires, I hope that we can band together. No matter our race, belief system, or any other distinguishing factor we may use as a societal box, we are all human. We need each other. We need less fear of disrespect, judgment, and ridicule for being our entire selves. As cliche as it sounds, we need a lot more love for each other. I'm not talking about the conditional kind of "love" either. I'm not talking about the "love" that comes with a price. I'm talking about pure love. The love that is constant and is consistently looking for the other person's best interests.

This is a post for survivors. May we no longer feel like we're just making things work from minute to minute. May we no longer feel like we are obligated to a certain emotion. May we not feel obligated to stay survivors. I hope that we can feel that we're allowed to feel unceasing joy. Sometimes I feel like my emotions are in survival mode, for whatever reason that day brings, when instead I need to seize the day.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xv9JOVkR5PQ