Dear Little Girl

Country roads take me home.

The rock feels cold and gritty beneath my belly. There’s a fire in there somewhere…someday it will start again. The cold, crisp air flutters over my body with no direction. I have no direction either. But, country roads still take me home.

I can still feel my heart beat in my stomach. It’s not supposed to be there I’ve been told. It’s trapped they said. It got caught by the wounds of trauma and doesn’t know how to get out yet.

What do you do when everything feels foreign? When you lose your small identities one by one. I try to hold on to the feeling of the sun on my skin and the dirt between my toes. But what happens when you can’t hold on anymore? When no one notices that you’ve gone missing? Missing from yourself. What happens then? How does one surrender in to nothing but past footsteps and dust? I know there’s a huge disconnect between the woman who I try to be today and the little girl inside who is still trapped in harsh memories and thought patterns.

I’ve spent a lot of time recently sitting with that little girl in me. A lot of time meditating and figuring out what the little girl in me wanted and needed growing up. That little girl in me tried really hard to be okay. Really hard. There were a lot of emotional tribulations that were merely too much to deal with as a child. But, all she wanted was to be loved. Truly loved.

I spent so much time trying to be the perfect daughter. I wanted, more than anything, to be something worth fighting for. But…I suppose it’s hard to fight for something when no love exists. I wonder if perhaps loving a child is harder than I have the ability to imagine. I know I’ll never understand why I couldn’t be loved. All I can do is figured out where that little girl hurts and let her know I can love her in all of the dark and empty spaces.

Little girl – what do you need? You don’t have to hold these traumas by yourself anymore. Let them go and breathe. I can help you but you have to trust me. We don’t have to hurt anymore. I promise. Just let me help you. I’m driving the bus now. We can hold hands and jump rope. No more chores. No more abuse. It’s okay to go outside and play – even without asking for permission. Please don’t feel guilty anymore.

I can love myself, even if I was never the perfect daughter. And that love may not be perfect. It will be unedited. But it will be with all of my heart. It may never make up for the emptiness and the burning thought “what if I’m just unlovable”… but at least it’s a start to somewhere… to some country road to take me home.

© /skin/ /ˈpōətrē/