π ππͺπ¨π© πππππ’π π‘π€π¨π© ππ£ π©ππ π¨π₯πππ π©πππ© π¨ππ€πͺπ‘π πππ«π πππ‘π© π‘ππ π ππ€π’π.
That was part of my response to a post talking about how some children spend their time and energy learning how to survive in a room instead of shining in it. The moment I hit βsendβ to submit my comment my eyes landed on that sentence.Β
I stared at it for a few minutes soaking in what those words meant. It was as if, for the first time, words on a page captured the emotions of my broken childhood. That realization came from a quiet place inside, the one I donβt often talk about, that still harbors the pain caused by the parents I had.
Not by the parents I needed but by the parents that I had.Β
And there it was staring back at me. The understanding that the parents I needed would have never let me feel lost in my own home. Yet the parents that I had could not care less about what happened to me or how they made me feel. To them I was nothing more than a pawn in their toxic chess game against each other.Β

That makes my childhood story a choice. And choices clearly draw lines in the sand. Some of those lines lead to positive outcomes and others do not. One sentence of a Facebook post made it crystal clear to me what side of the line I landed on due to the choices made by the parents I had.
Choices have consequences and they require action. So Iβm learning to ask God to help me heal from the pain caused by the choices the parents I had made. He is already moving mountains with that request which is why that sentence resonates so deeply with me.
As for me moving forward Iβm making choices with my daughter that lands her on the positive outcomes side of the line drawn in the sand. I am not a perfect parent and she will have pieces of her childhood to heal from of that I have no doubt.
However my hope is that she wonβt make a comment on social media one day and have the words she wrote stop her in her tracks.Β
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