Talk to Your Kids

When I started writing again, I vowed not to get too personal in this blog. But there are times when there is a reason to open up a bit.

I haven’t written for a while. I could come up with numerous excuses, but the truth is that I’ve been censoring myself—something I promised myself I wouldn’t do. There is never a shortage of topics to grab among all the activity buzzing around my brain.

I’m a fairly open book, but there is something I’ve never discussed before. If my mother was still alive, she would be really upset to hear this, because it happened under her nose without her knowledge. When I was a kid, I really disliked myself. I didn’t really understand why, besides being affected by the constant bullying and the reinforcement that I was ugly and basically inadequate. That stuff stays with you, no matter how strong you are or how well-adjusted you become as an adult.

I used to cry and bang my head against the headboard of my bed and hope that I would knock myself out and not wake up. I remember, I started to get sloppy and would visibly bruise myself. I honestly don’t remember if my mom noticed, but if she enquired, I’m sure I had an excuse that she bought. Fortunately, this was the extent of my threshold for pain; otherwise, I might have inflicted harm on myself in other ways. I would also pray to die in my sleep, so I wouldn’t have to face another day. And then I would wake up in the morning and have to deal with all the same crap and the self-loathing.

We all struggle. Compared to a lot of other kids, I had it easy. But I’m sharing this because I worry that the world in which we’re living isn’t making communication easier. I was an introverted kid, who didn’t talk to anyone. I didn’t have a very open line of communication with my elders, so I felt alone, which no one should feel.

It wasn’t until I reached my late 20s that I learned to really accept myself and recognize what I have to offer.

I think adults take a lot for granted. They forget what it was like to be a kid. More importantly, they forget that kids don’t rationalize and understand things the way they do, now, as adults, who have the benefits of experience and knowledge. No one asked me how I was doing, if there was anything I wanted to talk about. That probably would have made a difference to me. I wouldn’t have felt so alone. I wouldn’t have questioned whether anyone cared about me.

Please, spend time with your kids. Listen to them. Let them know that you want to hear what they think and feel.