Valentine’s Day is full of reminders. The red roses, the teddy bears, the chocolate boxes. Sometimes it is even in the small things like seeing couples hold hands while walking down the street. Old wounds are reopened. Watching others celebrate a holiday that fills me with pain shakes me to my core. Looking at all the red hearts and pink sweaters reminds me of all that has been taken from me, but also how far I’ve come.
I remember in elementary school when every kid would bring in candy and we would go around the room and trade valentines. I remember saving the best looking card for my crush and giving the best candy to my friends. I remember a time when it didn’t hurt. I remember a time of innocence. Sometimes I can’t believe how much has changed. So much can change in ten years.
I have accepted that what happened to me was no fault of my own. It wasn’t how short my shorts were or how I had my makeup done, but my healing journey doesn’t end at acceptance. There are still years of damage that I am trying to sort through. I don’t think there will ever come a time where the red hearts won’t trigger me. No amount of time can fix what happened, but I am starting to learn how to love myself and the scars that I have amassed. I have started to pull out my shorter shorts again. I have started buying makeup again. I am slowly moving toward being the bubbly, outgoing girl I once was. I am no longer ashamed or afraid of judgement. I may still be hurt and I may continue to hurt the rest of my life, but I am strong.
I spent so many years closed off from the thought of love, both giving and receiving. I lost the love I had for myself and replaced it with shame. I didn’t even want to think of the word because it reminded me of you. For the longest time, the only love I knew was your twisted, distorted version of it. It wasn’t quick kisses in the grocery store or holding hands as we walked to the car. The love I knew was bruises in places others wouldn’t see. It was hiding my body in sweatshirts and sweatpants that were two sizes too big. It was being afraid to say anything to anyone. The “love” I received was the only version I thought was possible for years. Slowly, I lost sight of the girl I used to be. I lost sight of the teddy bears and chocolate. I forgot the elementary school valentines. Eventually, I didn’t know what love was anymore. I didn’t know how to give it or how to receive it. All I knew were the bruises you left me with. The quick glances from across the table. The sly smirks. The sheer terror of not knowing if it was going to happen tonight. You broke me more than I ever believed a person could be broken. I can’t hear your name without thinking of the bruises. To this day, I cannot say your name. I spent so long trying to rationalize what happened when the truth is there is no rationalization that makes any of it okay. There is nothing I can say, do, or think that makes any of this okay. That was the hardest part for me to come to terms with. You broke me so much that this is what I thought love was.
As time passes and I get older there isn’t anything that can take the pain away. There is nothing that can keep me from thinking about what you did to me, but what I have learned is that I don’t have to hide anymore. I do not have to accept your version of love as the standard. I am beginning to see myself as more than I was worth to you. My scars don’t make me any less worthy of true love. I may have lost the happy, carefree girl I once was, but that has been replaced by a strong woman who is no longer afraid. It has been replaced by a strong woman who knows her worth. It has been replaced by a strong woman who will give and receive love despite what has happened to her.
I no longer seek validation because I know that even with all my scars I am still enough. I share my story because no matter what has happened in the past I am enough. There are still days I wake up and can’t bear to face the day. There are days where I feel I am not worthy of the love I have been given. There are days I hear your name and want to give up. The pain can become unimaginable, but as each day passes I see that there is hope. I wake up and tell myself that I am beautiful. That I am strong. I remind myself of the elementary school valentines. I remind myself of my worth and my value. I remind myself that it is okay to be scared. That it is okay to not be okay. I remind myself that I love the woman that I have become and that despite everything that has been done to be here I am standing on the other side scars and all.
Image Credit: https://medium.com/thrive-global/healing-the-hurting-heart-b69a2e213fe6