From Abandonment to Reintegration: A New Manifesto For My Past Self

As is the case for many children, I grew up in a world that was more tumultuous than my little brain or body could understand. The grown-ups didn’t always make the right decisions. They weren’t always protectors. Their love wasn’t always easy, and it didn’t always make sense. 

I learned from a young age that love was not immutable, but conditional. If I did the right thing, I would be loved. If I acted out, I would be punished, and that punishment would be brought by plastic hangers or wooden spoons on small, plump bottoms, or by cayenne pepper sprinkled carelessly on small, wet tongues. 

Afterwards, I would be held and cradled and reassured that these things were only done to me because of love. Even as my body was still stinging from that self-proclaimed “love.” 

Of course, there were many wonderful things my mother did for me, many ways she took care of me that were bright and beautiful and full of laughter, grace, support, and encouragement. 

But these were not the things from which I would someday need to recover. These were not the things I spent hours dissecting over therapy and coaching sessions. These were not the things that made me lose myself.

***

I never knew my biological father. My mother left him when I was just a baby, and for nine or ten years I knew relatively nothing about him. He played piano (I played piano). He had olive skin (my sister has olive skin). He wasn’t around (             ).

Shortly before my birthday, my mother reached out to him and asked if he wanted to connect with his kids. He did. We spoke briefly on the phone, and exchanged some emails. He said he’d send me some presents, and I eagerly awaited their arrival. 

But my presents never came.

I didn’t hear from him again until I was 23 years old. 

***

There are many things that happen to us in childhood–that we see, do, experience, or feel–that cannot, at the time, be understood. There are many things that will not be borne; that are too much for our little brains and bodies to understand.

So we bury them. 

We become different children that allow us to bear the brunt of what we didn’t yet have the capacity to know how to accept, or, when necessary, reject. 

When we are small, it is easier to reject our selves than it is to reject the actions or beliefs of those on whom we depend. Even if, somewhere deep inside, somewhere right and true and full of wisdom, we know they are wrong. 

So we learn how to cope. We abandon little parts of ourselves that we deemed unlovable, and shift and change until we become the little people that our caregivers will accept. 

We do everything we can to abandon ourselves so that we, ourselves, will not be abandoned. 

And then, if we are brave enough, we someday learn how to bring our selves back together. 

For me, The Work is about doing just that: reuniting different versions of my past self in order to find healing, wholeness, and acceptance. Those little selves didn’t deserve what they got back then, but it was the only way I knew how to survive. I’ve learned to accept my mistakes, to apologize for them when necessary, and to build new bridges that bring me back to myself… no matter how painful the journey may be.

Along the way, I’ve learned how to write a new manifesto on how to survive–with the help of all my past selves (yes, there are many, and I’m still discovering new ones). It looks a lot different than what it used to be, and this is a good thing. 

I’d like to share it with you now:

Speak your truth, even if it hurts. You will always recover more quickly, easily, and efficiently from the consequences of the truth than you will by stuffing the truth away into the dark bed of silence.

Take up space. You deserve to be seen and heard. Your feelings are valid, and you have a right to feel them. If any relationship in your life makes you feel small or inadequate, that relationship should be deeply scrutinized. The little one inside you depends on it. 

The physical shape of your body, your mental acumen, or your level of productivity have no bearing on your worth as a human being. You are beautiful and precious exactly as you are, without having to add anything and without taking anything away. 

There is nothing you can do that would make you any more worthy of love and belonging. You don’t have to speak a certain way, look a certain way, or behave in a way that is unnatural to you. You are loved and accepted exactly as you are. 

You are loved and accepted exactly as you are.

***

I’m sure there will be more to add to this manifesto as the years go on, perhaps even some parts that will fall away. I tend to change, as people do, and so of course, my manifesto will change along with me. It’s only natural, and it is now something I look forward to, rather than something I cower from. Holding onto the past is like trying to paddle a boat upstream; very rarely do you get anywhere, and meanwhile you miss all the beauty that lies ahead.

To those who are just starting out on this journey, I would say this:

Just because you may feel lost doesn’t mean that you can’t be found. Just because you feel broken doesn’t mean you are damaged. And just because you’ve been through some serious shit doesn’t mean you’re so stuck that a little bit of elbow grease, dedication, and heaps of compassion can’t help you get through it. 

You will find freedom again. You will find acceptance. And you can rewrite any story about your life that doesn’t make you feel whole and satisfied and deserving of whatever life you wish to lead. It’s your journey, after all. You deserve to write it however you see fit. 

So…

What’s your manifesto?