The Impact We Have vs How We Were Impacted

My birthday is coming up and I can still hear the story playing over and over in my head. Mom and her friends were finishing up with their weekly Mahjong game when mom’s water broke. I was in such a hurry to enter the world that I was born in the hospital elevator. I was supposed to be named Kimberly and my big sister was so excited that she wrote me a letter to welcome me home and it began with “Dear Kimberly”. My grandmother threatened to disown my mom if she didn’t choose another name. And finally, giving birth to me was the start to all of mom’s medical problems and it all went downhill from there.

I was never too fond of my birthday because it caused me anxiety and guilt. My birthday served as a reminder of the nineteen year struggle my mom faced until she could fight no more. I know she would have become ill whether or not I was conceived and she knew it too. I know this now but I didn’t for many years. I also knew she had feelings of resentment toward me that she wished she didn’t have— she too felt guilty for it. And I also know that she loved me and she still does.

Feeling guilty for being born and causing the dynamic of my family so many changes left me feeling like a burden. I always seemed to have either and ear infection, strep throat or a stomach virus. If my mom picked me up and sat me on the kitchen table, she didn’t even have to speak a word—I KNEW we were heading out to the pediatrician, panic set in and I would begin crying.

Thinking back to my earliest years, I realize just how resourceful I was. I must have been three or four when I woke up in the middle of the night and my bed was wet. I went into my parent’s room for help and I remember so clearly how distraught my dad was as he climbed out of bed and proceeded to change my sheets. The next time it happened I decided there was no way I was going to cause anyone to be upset with me and I handled it on my own from there—all of it! Emotionally I became on my own from that very evening. When it got to be too much for me, I went into my closet with my pillow and blankie and cried where nobody could see me and nobody could hear me. This was the day I created my wall–one with which remained for over thirty years until I awoke and decided to do the work.

Let me make it clear that I no longer harbor any resentment or blame toward any of my family members. Everything I share is for a reason—awareness!

I still cry on my birthday because I am reminded of all the years we suffered as a family, but my tears are now combined with tears of joy–for being born—for being alive… and for having this opportunity to pay it forward.

With love and light,
Wendy