My cultural pride is shame.
My cultural pride is shame. My native tongue is a memory I try to scrape clean so mud doesn’t cake out of my mouth.
My greatest gift of maternal love is to insist she get no heirloom. My gift is to break the cycle.
And what I give her is something I didn’t own as a child.
Safety.
Comfort.
Responsiveness.
Love.
Attachment.
I am not a child-girl-victim.
I’m a mother-woman-adult.
OK, I am, and will always be, both.(This is an except from “Little Girl Riding Shotgun in My Psyche,” a chapter in the book Trigger Points: Abuse Survivors Experiences of Parenting)
There’s been so little in the way of resources for us ‘break-the-cycle’ parents. Almost nothing helpful, practical, educational or mindful.
Where are the well-written memoirs by survivor parents? The meditation handbooks for handling post-traumatic stress and post-partum depression at the same time? The mommy and me yoga classes with poses on how to manage flashbacks while potty training or medication withdrawal issues in pregnancy?
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