Would I destroy my present to (maybe) have a nicer past?
An angry kid grows into a grateful adult. Finally.
Hi, I’m Becky, an artist and writer based in Derbyshire. I write about my life in what I hope is an honest and open way. I write about mental health, autism, sobriety and simply trying to find my way in this world. Please subscribe to support my work and to read more of my posts.
Hi,
How are you?
Over the past few weeks, I have been doing a lot of reading. I have been choosing reading over doing a lot of other things I usually do.
One of the books I have read is ‘Tiny Beautiful Things’1 by
. It is a book made up of the articles she has written for her Dear Sugar advice column, which is now on her Substack.One of the letter is from a man who is lost and feeling that his life is over after the death of his son. Having known the pain of loss, having lost her Mum in her twenties, Cheryl’s answer is filled with love, kindness and hope.
One of the lines that has really stayed with me is this one:
“The strange and painful truth is that I am a better person because I lost my Mum young.”
Cheryl made her way through the grief to become a person who her Mum would be proud of, someone who can offer solace, compassion and hope to a someone who is going through a parents worse nightmare: outliving their child.
Upon reading this line, I quickly underlined it and scribbled next to it (Yes, I am someone who writes in books. I also fold down corners. Sorry Cheryl!):
“I am a better person because my Dad walked away.”
My Dad, for want of a better word, walked away from my life when I still a baby. I have never received a birthday card, a Christmas present, a text or a hug from him. My Mum has never been give any support, neither emotional, physical or financial.
He just walked away, deciding his life was better spent not being a father to the cute, tiny baby that made up his daughter.
From early on, I was aware of his absence. I hated other children asking where my Dad was, what his name was, seeming to hold more interest in knowing this person than I did.
As I grew up, the questions still came but now it was “What do you Mum and Dad do?”, followed by quick scrambles from friends who already knew. “Becky doesn’t have a Dad”, hurriedly whispered and bashful sorries muttered from the person who asked. There was nothing to be sorry for. It was not their fault that my family story proved to be so burdensome to the small worlds that children inhabit.
Anyhow, I was the one who should be sorry. It was obviously my fault he had left, right? I was unlovable. Something deeply wrong with me that had led him to walk away and had trapped my Mum. No matter what she said, how kind she was, how supportive, how often she told me she loved me and that I was the best thing to ever happen to her, I knew I’d ruined her life. I’d ruined it, right? It wasn’t possible in that period of my life to even consider the notion that it was my Dad who had made a choice because he wanted to make it, not because I was an evil child brought forth from the depths of hell.
My teenage years would come forth with my safe space having shrunk, with the loss of both my Grandparent within a thirteen month period.
Years of depression, self harm, disordered eating and complete self hatred would follow me like a shadow for years to come, with my feelings of being unlovable and evil amplified by the ways in which I was treated and spoken to by some of my peers.
School would end and I would be free from some of the chains. The short, bright red hair, the piercings and tattoos, all a symbol of this freedom.
Except I’m not free.
And every man I choose to allow into my life, my home, my body lets me know this. Not one treats me well. Some simply disappear into the ether, some tell lies, some treat me like I am less than human, some hurt me. Not one treats me with any kindness or compassion.
I am unlovable. I am less than human. I am evil.
All of it leads me to an array of doctors, medications, diagnosis’s, suicide attempts.
I am unlovable, I am less than human, I am evil and I pray to whoever will listen that I am off the planet before I am thirty.
And yet…
And yet, here I am, at nearly thirty-six, scribbling into a book that I am a better person because my Dad walked away.
And I knew in an instant that it was true.
I am stronger. I am kinder. I am more compassionate. I am more open to others. I am less judgemental. I have a strong desire to help others and knowing that I only really have my stories to do this, I tell them honestly and freely.
I have been that angry person, barking hate about how I didn’t need to be stronger, I needed to not have to go through horrible things at the hands of horrible people. I have held onto hate and made people into caricature villains.
Unless I get my hands on a time machine, there is nothing to be gained from holding on to the hate, the anger and the pain. In the end, it’s only burning me.
And if I did get my hands on a time machine, would I actually get in? Would I change the bad things I’ve been through? Would I make it so my Dad didn’t leave?
If I were to get in and change it all, would I still have as close a relationship with my Mum?
Would I have had as close a relationship with my Grandparents? Would I have got to live with them?
Would I have met and had the same friends? Would I still have them, like I do now?
Would I have found the love of my life in a Sheffield nightclub?
Would I destroy my present to, possibly, have a nicer past?
No, I would not.
Because yes, it may stop some of the bad from happening but it could also cost me all the good in my life.
It could cost me becoming who I am today, a person worth being with lessons learnt and stories to tell.
✨ What about you - would you get in the time machine? Would you risk the good to erase the bad?
Thank you so much for reading. As always, if you enjoyed my letter, please give it a like, leave me a comment or reply to this email. And please give it a share or a restack. It might get it to someone who needs to read it. Thank you. 🖤
Until next time, take care of yourself.
Love,
Becky
🖤✨🌈
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So much light, love, and care to you, Becky. Also immense recognition for you, your journey, your continuous becoming.
I'd be tempted to go back in my own time machine. But, also, I know the wisdom in your words and am grateful that I don't have the option. Here's to all that makes us. ❤️
Same but different 🫶🏼
It makes me think of resilience which I've had a pretty difficult relationship with. It's handed out like a reward for getting through bad stuff, in one piece but I know it's necessary in order to survive and thrive.
I wouldn't change anything that has happened but I would perhaps wish to revisit how I dealt with, accepted or not and perhaps wish to change speaking up and out then so it wasn't even more things to carry alone and which only compounded that I was the problem.
*But*... In the end, all things come and go when they need to. I do believe that (even though some stuff truly sucks and could go quicker!)
I'm very glad to hear your realisation and the compassion you're giving yourself in this. ❤️