When I was young, traditions were exciting because they brought the whole family together, cousins to play with, great food and the warmth of belonging. Then came the shift in my perspective. What were the traditions about? What impact did they have on my life? What did my religion mean to me? I asked questions, too many questions. No one liked it. Through the years my doubt grew, and I was labelled disobedient, then I was beaten for it. I was silenced and my voice was crushed. It was easier to listen, any other option ended in pain, physical, emotional, and psychological, and much more. I kept the pieces of my voice. After I escaped and pieced together the fragments of my voice, bit by bit, year after year, I found my voice. It’s time for me to use it.
When I became a mother, I was not ready. I was broken and unhappy. I damaged my children because I was submerged in my survival and figuring out how to protect them and give them the future I so desperately wanted for them.
I have a whole lot of making up to do, this, I do for them.