I want to marry someone I can be friends with if we divorce. Someone who fights fair, and has no trouble owning up to shit. I’m weird with my thoughts, too blunt at times. Honesty is good, but sometimes I’m too honest and I screw up. I’m too sensitive and the slightest thing can rile me up. Door slams, oh god. If I don’t like someone’s vibe, I shut them out and there’s no place in hell that can make me open up again. That means that I’m not as forgiving as I should. I want someone who accepts that mess and tells me to get over myself and stop fucking it up. Someone who respects and honours me enough to not be afraid to tell me the truth, even at the risk of hurting me. Nothing hurts love like tiptoeing and self-censoring does.

Power in vulnerability

There’s nothing more efficient than honesty and nothing more powerful than vulnerability because, vulnerability reveals everyone in your life who will abuse power immediately and almost irrevocably.

There’s nothing weaker than hiding your vulnerability because, it means a refusal to stare at those who abuse power and see them for who they are which means they still have power and control over you. Nothing is stronger than vulnerability. Nothing more clarifying. Nothing is clearer than vulnerability, and if you hide who you are you are just making a tombstone of your everyday actions because you dont exist in hiding and you’re letting the past rob you.

Exercise the power of vulnerability. When you are vulnerable you are signaling to your system that the past is over and done! That you’re no longer a victim! That you’re no longer trapped in a destructive and abusive environment! Vulnerability means it’s over, it’s done. The war is over but, if you continue to use the same defenses that you had in the past all you’re telling your whole body is that the past is not over.

Be vulnerable. Be honest. Be open and show your heart. That’s the best way of telling your heart that the tigers are no longer in the grass. I’m telling you, just take it for a spin. Vulnerability and openness will get you what you want in your life and hiding will only get you the feeling of being prey from here until the end of your life.”

― Stefan Molyneux

Emotional orphan

I was emotionally orphaned.

My mum told me that I was a very fussy baby who’d cry nonstop. So she made sure I was fed and clean – physically cared for – and just leave me be when I cry ‘for no apparent reason’. I believe we are all born with fully formed souls and personalities and we spend life learning to accept ourselves. I think that first year when my body was cared for but my mind ignored, something within me broke. Shattered to smithereens. Because when I turned one, I changed drastically. I became reticent and quiet. Still. If I were told to sit down, I’d sit there for hours until told to get up. That’s not normal for a one year old is it? I don’t think so.

My dad was much more compassionate than mum. He was a doting father who wouldn’t let me cry. He observed my every move to try to decipher my language. He even kept a shorthand notebook for my baby babble and he’d be my translator of sorts. They really tried, my parents. I was a very sensitive and old soul and they had to improvise because I wasn’t like normal infants. I was even scared of the dark! I was merely a couple of months and I’d freak if the lights were turned off. 😀

I was 1 year and 8 months when my twin brothers were born. It threw everyone off course, because they were unplanned. Not only that, but mum almost died giving birth via c-section. She spent the first 6 months or so in and out of hospital. My dad had to work. We lived in a small southern town of Sweden where we didn’t have any relatives to help out. It was hard. I think the sudden change of dynamics where I was pushed off the only child seat and relegated to the background in the face of the clamour and mum’s illness, affected me very deeply.

One day I blurted out something that couldn’t have belonged to my mind and be spoken by my tongue. I wasn’t even 2 years yet, when I addressed my parents and a family friend who were in our midst;
‘ hooyo mid, aabe mid, aniga baabah’. Which is Somali for ‘ mum one, dad one, me nothing ‘, pointing out that my parents’ hands were occupied with both my infant twin brothers and I was left alone.
Heart wrenching and mind-boggling as it was, the family friend was utterly devastated and scooped me up immediately, sobbing at my words that I was too young for.

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The childhood that never was


I recently had a conversation with my mum. She was of the notion that she had ‘invested’ in me and expected a certain outcome. Said she, ” I raised you for 25 years and I am yet to see benefit”. Perplexed and stunned I asked her why she saw me, and my siblings, as investments in the stock market? She was the one blessed with children and the means to provide for us, so if she saw us as produce of her hard efforts then she’d feel entitled to certain outcomes. Unless I fulfilled that impossible image, I was a failure. I had to reach there in order for her to let out a sigh of relief and allow herself to look at me with an eye of satisfaction.

It quickly descended into a quibble and she asked rhetorically what there was about me to be grateful about? My attitude and lack of reverence? As if that’s all I was. She stormed out of the room and I felt like I was 8 again. She will never be pleased with me, I saw that now. I learnt very early on that love was conditional on my performance. I had to be nice enough,smart enough, neat enough.

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