Dec 17, 2020

I have trauma around people not showing up for me. Reason is because when I was younger, I did not receive an emotional dialogue or a hug and was left to my own devices to process.

Whenever I get into a conflict, first thing that goes is the back of my throat starts to feel like it constricts. My therapist says that this happens because it triggers what I experienced as a child. I have to breathe and remind myself that I am a grown man with experiences and know what I need and don’t need. I remember when my Dad told me my first christmas back that he would abandon me again, Gemma was right next to me. Gemma was my support system that saved me from feeling bad. It was what I needed. Touch at that moment was so important to feel that I had support.

My therapist says that my comedic jabs are good in saying what I want because it says I’m not standing for this behavior anymore, but don’t want a big conflict. I’ll dive more into that as I learn to put up my boundaries. Putting up those boundaries allows me to leave it on the other person to change and if they don’t, then I get to change.

The big part of today’s session was realizing that I have trauma around people not showing up. How I have anxiety around showing up because I was scolded as a child when I did not and called out on my weaknesses for that. This affects me now because I give so much of myself and get the short end of the stick. I’m honestly tired of that.

Realizing that I don’t need that many people to rely on.

I decided to write the letter to my dad telling him that I’m angry about him voting for Trump. I’m on the last paragraph. I don’t know why I keep thinking that he’s going to die if he reads this letter, but a critique is an act of love because you want someone to be better. My therapist told me today that a healthy relationship between a child and parent is one where both parties can communicate their feelings. For me, that is such a taboo idea because I did not receive that as a child. It was, go to your room, you’re grounded, and I’m left to figure out what to do. I’m realizing that as an adult I have to get my own help to help the kid inside of me that’s still hurting. It’s a sad thought to be honest.

I now understand why I was crying when I was looking for an SAT teacher and why my scores were so low. In my junior year of high school, like many students, I was taking the SAT to get into a college. My scores weren’t that great. They were like 1550. I can’t believe I let numbers fuckin bully me. As a result, I needed tutoring. I didn’t know what I was doing. While I have a sister who has taken these tests and was attending UC Berkeley, I didn’t feel like I could reach out to her. Our relationship was weird at the time and very bad. I had to figure it out on my own, but my sister also had to do the same. Somehow I found a tutoring place nearby my house and I started attending there. One day, I forget the reason why, but I had a meeting with the main tutor. His name was Kevin. I remember Kevin read me like a book. Saying to me that I lack self confidence and a main reason is because I lost my mother. It was a very vulnerable moment to cry in front of him and my dad. But what made me mad was before the crying, my dad kept saying, well if he wants it meaning, wants to do bette, it’s up to him. Inside, I felt betrayed. Like, why is it up to me to figure out SAT studying when all these other white kids have their parents helping them find these classes. It just felt so wrong because this moment felt like many other moments where my Dad tried to help, but couldn’t help me and we would end up in a fight.

I remember fighting my dad over what word I could use to start a sentence. The word was Next and the word was Then. If he tried to help me in math, it didn’t work, but he found me a tutor. See that’s what I wanted.

I remember seeing a meme about how children shouldn’t be expected to perform emotional labor, have a job, raise other kids, worry about food, worry about tutoring resources. Kids should allowed to be kids. I wasn’t allowed that because my mom passed away, but I was also not allowed to be an adult meaning I couldn’t talk back.

I started writing about a time in 4th grade, but then it got really personal and I realized it probably shouldn’t be on a website/blog at the moment.