That's My Story...

The theme I've been trying to follow this week is who are you at your core. I've been sharing who I am for years. That's kind of been the over arching theme of this blog. Navel gazing and political rants. I know who I am. And when I try to become someone else I get reminders that that is not who I am. I am pretty comfortable with who I am most of the time, except for those times that I think I want to try to be someone else. And as I mentioned, that never works.

And who I am, who all of us are, is our story. Your life so far. What is your story? How did you get here? How did you become who you are? Why do you think the way you do? Why do you act like that? I mean seriously, why do you act like that?

I mentioned in a blog earlier this week that my foundation is broken and that's why I don't trust people. I've written before about why it's broken. Cliff's notes version for anyone who hasn't read that piece:

I was abused as a kid by an older sibling. It was because of a drug issue she had. Once she was clean we didn't talk about it in my family except in the rosiest of terms that "God handled it." My parents never acknowledged the abuse or the fact that they knew she was unstable and left me with her anyway. It took me years to even understand what had happened wasn't normal. It took me more years to reach a point where I forgave my family for the abuse, the neglect and the gaslighting. 

I was really angry for a lot of years and I didn't really even understand why. I didn't realize that what I had been through was abuse, not just normal sibling issues. I didn't realize that part of me understood that my parents abandoned me in those years and that wasn't okay. I just choked it all down (with a good amount of rum) and seethed inside. My late teens and early 20s I worked through it (mostly) and by my 40s even came to a place where I have empathy for what my sister had to go through. It wasn't fair to her to have to deal with a much younger sibling while she was clearly going through her own shit. 

Now...

That's my story. 

When I was home visiting my mother the spring before she died I was talking to my sister and we started to touch on what went on when we were kids. She said that everyone has a version of their life growing up and they don't always match and that's okay. It doesn't have to match. And that was the end of the discussion. I was a little stunned.

Later she was talking about something to do with my father and told a story that doesn't match at all with the man I knew. Like I wouldn't have liked this guy she was talking about and I adored my dad. The words she put in his mouth were nothing like anything I had ever heard him use. It was really disorienting. I talked to Brent about it and said that she had lived with my parents for much longer than I did so was this really who my father was? Brent basically said something similar to what she had earlier, everyone has their own version of their stories and sometimes they don't match. 

He said it was fine if I never considered that story, the one she told, canon. 

It was a wonderfully geeky way of looking at it. 

The version of our childhood that my sister now holds, the one that sprung up because we weren't supposed to acknowledge what happened to me, that's her canon not mine. That's her story. That's central to who she is. What she believes about herself and her life. And it has nothing to do with my story. 

Even though we both lived it. Both experienced it. Both would swear in a court of law that our version is the correct one. We have different stories. Different pieces are canon. 

And it's okay. 

She was right. I don't need her to believe my version of life. I don't need to believe hers. It doesn't hurt me that she has a different story. And it's none of my business who she thinks she is. 

See how that works?

Years ago I needed someone to acknowledge that what happened to me wasn't right. Wasn't okay. Wasn't my fault. But I didn't need it to be her. I didn't need to it be my parents. It might have been quicker and smoother healing if it had been, but it didn't work that way. And in the end the person I needed to believe all of that, it wasn't okay, it wasn't right, it wasn't my fault, was me. That took awhile, but I got there. 

Knowing that I can trust myself, believe myself, love myself, that's all part of my core now. 

That's my story. 

My foundation is broken, but I'm still standing.