This weekend I'm going home to attend my high school reunion and visit family. I'm feeling so nervous about this trip. It's the first time I will be home since my therapy and my awakening.
Postpartum depression helped me dig up the past and sort through everything. I realized there were so many issues I hadn't dealt with, and having the new pressure of being a mom was the end of me.
I've never much cared for architecture as an art form until I heard an interview with an architect on NPR. He said he loves creating buildings because they frame our memories. So true. The house where my husband and I live is the place of good memories - rocking M to sleep, watching her play, seeing her take her first (and so far only) step.
The home where I'm going this weekend is the background of bad memories. My older stepbrother molested me. My stepdad tried. A peeping tom stared into my window at night. I begged for help, and my mother always dismissed me as a child who was misunderstanding things.
Since I've gone through therapy, I understand better that I was right. She was wrong. But even though my mom knows about my recovery, she is ignoring the real roots of the problem. I don't think she's really absorbed what I've gone through. So I'm sure she won't understand why I feel antsy.
Every minute of the day is dragging on and on. Only tonight and tomorrow are left. Then I will see him and be back in that house.
At least my husband and M will be with me.
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