I know

I know that hatred can turn into love.

The moment I was born my mother was seized with an "abject hatred" of me. (Her words.)

I was also born with "shallow" hip sockets which left my legs dangling out of their sockets. The hospital doctor suggested that infant me be put in 6 diapers at a time for 6 months in order to push my legs into their sockets.

Imagine my mother, who was possessed with an "abject hatred" of me having to change 6 diapers every time I wet or soiled myself. She must have been overjoyed.

Growing up in an environment where it was obvious, even if unstated, that my mother hated me, (but didn't feel that way toward my brothers) wee little me interpreted that something was "innately wrong" with me. I received little to no touch from her and her held rage towards me (that barely kept from choking me she once said) was undeniably palpable so much so that I subconsciously internalized it (in the wordless way babies & children do) into a belief that I had the plague running through my veins.

Moving from house to house, new environment to new environment, was common in my childhood which added to my lack of emotional stability. Self hatred grew in me and was reflected by my being plagued with impetigo all over my face. I picked on myself incessantly; no scab escaped unpicked.

My mother would send me to school (a new school where I didn't have any friends) with gentian violet (a bright purple anti-fungul) all over the scabs on my face, (because I kept picking off the puss colored cream she would put on them and the gentian violet is like a dye that sticks better). Nervous, alone and embarrassed in a brand new school I picked my nose in class and ate my bugger (not even knowing I was doing it until the whole class broke out laughing and pointing at me).

And the fun goes on.

One day I may write a book.

But for now I will say that I love my mother. She is one of my Sheros. Why? Because even though she hated me for the bulk of my childhood, a few months before I turned 12 my mother put herself into therapy in order to "stop shit rolling downhill" she said.

We've processed together, intensely I might add, for decades. Some years we were not speaking to one another so pissed off were we. After incredible amounts of processing together, and a lot of mutual growth, I'm happy to say, we've gotten somewhere. We can speak on anything with total honesty and there isn't any discomfort from things unsaid.

By modeling to me the courage to face her own demons, seeking the truth of her own pain and damage, she shoved me into having a head start doing the same for myself.

As it turns out she always loved me, she simply didn't know how while drowning in her own unique, yet sadly universal, internal agony.

I know things can change for the better when we face ourselves with courage, honestly and self responsibility, which adds up to self love.

And I know self love is one of the most powerful realities on the planet.