Presently one of the images I’m dealing with in my EMDR therapy is of my grandmother and the abuse she descended upon me.
The image of her on top of me, beating me.
The ugly in her face.
The crazed look in her eyes.
Her flailing hands and evil glare
as she grabbed my hair.
Pulled, tugged, slapped, and bruised.
She then put me in the closet
until my parents were there.
This image has haunted and taunted me my whole life. I even began to wonder if they were real memories or confused realities. EMDR is helping me finally release the emotions and associations related to this experience.
Embracing the bruised inner child.
You are safe now.
Why did she not care? The child asks.
Then I hold her and we cry.
When my friends had grandmothers that were loving and sweet and associated with soups and cookies, I had one who hated me. When I finally became too big to hit, she abused me with her words. Yelling and calling me a whore, when I was not even 12. Telling me that if my mom loved me, she’d be home and not working. These are just a few memories of my grandmother and my abuser.
I grew up thinking abuse equaled love.
No wonder I am an abuse magnet.
Including self abuse.
It’s been three weeks since my first round of EMDR, and I am still working on processing and releasing this one trauma. Overwhelming and healing, simultaneously.
Forgive my scattered writing, as I post this during an anxiety attack.
Though the memories of my grandmother are not as panic inducing as they once were, (thanks to therapy) I still have much anxiety with the process.
No child should have to hurt
or be unloved.
I shed tears for my inner child.
It is over now. I keep reminding.
Now it’s disassembling the connections intertwining.
This is where the anxiety and the journey continue.