I’ve been sitting here for the last 20 minutes, knowing I wanted to blog today. Desperate not to procrastinate this time and get back on a schedule. And, I couldn’t think of anything to blog about. Something personal, but not too personal. Sweet but not saccharine sweet.
I scrolled through Google looking for ideas, pulling up various websites, but nothing spoke to me, or moved me in the way I was searching for. I started to let my mind wander. God only knows why, but I started to think about Winnie the Pooh and how my favorite characters had changed over different courses of my life.
The problem? None. Well, not really.
Exceept…Pooh reminds me of my childhood. Memories came flooding back. Some clear, some purposely blurred to keep the horror and pain away.
My parents divorced when I was 5. 6 months before my baby sister was born. They continued to live together for years after. Why? Financial? Because my mom couldn’t support the 3 of us kids and herself? Because they still had feelings for each other? I don’t know. What I do know is that the day my mom fianally moved out and in with the much younger man she met, was one of the happiest days of my life.
No more fear, no more yelling, no more belt when my dad was at work…
So, yeah. Winnie the Pooh led me to memories I deliberately repress for my own mental health.
It is true. Childhood abuse can absolutely lead to a cycle of abuse. My personal relationships are a perfect reflection of this.
But…thanks to the hell of my first 8 years taught me what not to do when raising a child.
My daughter is a mirror of my parenting and while she has some anxiety, the closeness we share (even through her teenage years) is the goal other moms should strive for.
I’ll come back to the Pooh topic at a later date. It’s too cute not to explore. For now, I’m going to go watch the offspring play Stardew Valley and disscuss our dinner plans. Have a great Saturday night.