L Becker

Reposting from . This is something I forget a lot about with my parents. I’m cleaning up so much in myself from all the damage they did to me. It’s hard to see them in any good light when I can see the damage they did to me, to my sisters, to my brother. Hard to see when I’m fighting so many battles with childhood trauma and PTSD that they gave me that I forget to say thank you for the good that they gave.
I’m not just who I am because of the scars they gave me, but also for the love and the DNA they passed on. I love reading because of them. I love Louis L’Amour and Zane Grey because of my dad. I love poetry and Celtic folk music because of my mom. I wouldn’t be a writer if it wasn’t for my mom’s encouragement when I was 15 (not going to mention the fact that she burned everything I wrote when I was 17 and almost killed my soul….yeah I know I just did) because being a writer is who I’ve always been.
I have my mom’s hair and eye color, her lips and nose. I have my dad’s height and quiet nature and love for research and reading. I have my freckles from my dad and I have my intelligence from both of them. This wild imagination comes from mom, my sense of story telling from my dad. My love of animals and nature from my dad.
I have beautiful and horrible memories from them. It’s really hard to forgive them, but it’s much harder to keep hating them.
It’s hurts that I’ll never see them again. It hurts more that is a choice I made to protect myself. I forgive you both, because the older I get I realize you were dealing with your own generational trauma and you were just human.