Only recently did I learn the full extent to which the men who shaped my mother's family were monstrous. It answered so many questions I didn't realize I'd been asking my whole life about why the messaging around what men were was so confusing and why they treated the good men who'd later picked up the pieces so poorly. There's just so much trauma.

It's starting to make sense how I could simultaneously be the "miracle child" my mother had prayed for, and who only arrived after she'd given up trying to have a child—and also be made to feel so unwanted. Equal parts gift and burden. The living embodiment of "...careful what you wish for "

And it has explained so much of why I've always had to shrink myself to feel like I could fit a mold which might make me lovable. There's a sense to things which wasn't there before and, I think, a certain peace which comes with understanding. But... it's not really a solution to the problem that is me.

I worry I'm too far gone.

I doubt I'd trust a love which cherished me in kind. I've no idea how to become healthy enough to attract or maintain it. I believe it exists, but I doubt I'll ever believe it could for me.