Why am I afraid to speak my truth? Why am I afraid to speak up for myself and my feelings?

Well, let me tell you, I am pretty sure this one goes WAY back. I have recently been having some vivid memories from my childhood. I know some people may say it’s not possible to remember that far back, but I believe my first memory was from around 3 years old. I’ve been able to narrow the timeframe down, because in this particular memory, my family was still living in our trailer house in Friend, Nebraska. Here is a photo of me with my brother, Tim, who has Down Syndrome. We also have an older sister, a younger sister, and a younger brother. My mom really had her hands full!

So, here is what I recall. I was going through a phase of repeating everything people would say. EVERYTHING. I remember that I was sitting on the counter, or maybe the washing machine, while my mom was talking to her brother, my uncle. I was repeating everything he was saying without missing a beat. I can still remember him getting really angry (or at least pretending to be), leaning in close to my face, and hissing a threat at me if I continued to do it. I remember that in a moment, I went from being a giggly, care-free 3 year old to a sad, trembling-lipped, scared child. Now, I honestly have no recollection of what he said, but I imagine that it was something to the effect of, “If you don’t stop that right now, I’m going to take you out in the country and leave you there by yourself.”

I realize that’s a pretty specific guess, but here’s why I feel that may have been the case – After that, ALL of my childhood memories were of crying and being afraid. Afraid of being deserted by my mom, and scared of absolutely everything. I cried daily out of fear of being stranded. Even when she took me to my grandparent’s home when she was going to the hospital to deliver my sister, and later, my youngest brother, I was terrified she was never going to come back. I couldn’t even go with my older sister for a walk down the block from our friends’ house without ending up crying, because she would get a few too many steps ahead of me and I didn’t know the way back home.

Kindergarten was pure hell. For me, my mom, and my teacher. Every day, my mom would take me to school, and the tears would begin. I just knew she was never coming back for me. If I would finally settle down, the slightest thing would set me off again and the tears would be rolling. And when the day would finally come to an end, I would go outside the classroom and immediately start crying again if I didn’t see her at first glance. I can remember those feelings of desertion as if it happened this morning , and it still brings tears to my eyes to type this out today.

There came a point in time where my mom started to wean me. And I can’t blame her one bit. After all, she had my brother, who has Down’s Syndrome, my younger sister, and my baby brother at home while I was in kindergarten, 1^st, and 2^nd grade. She started by meeting me a block away from the school, then two blocks, then three. But when it came to the point of me having to turn North to get the rest of the way home (which was another 2 blocks), I froze up and couldn’t do it. I was afraid of the dogs I would have to pass on the way or I was afraid that I would get lost. My mom eventually recruited a couple of my classmates and their parents to either drive me or walk me the rest of the way home. When walking, I would have like a half of a block to go on my own, and even then, I was scared I would come home to an empty house.

This fear went on for years. I was afraid to go to swimming lessons, I was afraid of dogs, I was afraid to be alone in the house. I was afraid of getting lost or left behind, I was afraid we’d lose our car after taking the canoe down the river, I was afraid we’d die and rot on the country road when we got stuck. I was afraid to go to camp or to another church’s bible school. If there was any chance of me having to do something on my own, I was afraid of it.

The one thing that sticks out the most to me in this whole story, is that I also lost my ability to speak. I don’t mean that I could no longer physically speak. I mean that I was afraid to ask for help, or to verbalize my fears, or to communicate my needs. I would just fall apart in tears. It makes me so sad to think of myself as that little girl who was afraid to do or say anything out of fear of being disposed of. As I got older, it became less and less acceptable to cry in public. So instead, I did nothing. I didn’t even stand up for myself when needed. I would outwardly ignore the problem, internally worry about it, all the while hoping that it would just go away. This is basically how I have handled life ever since. Here are just a few examples:

When a friend would say or do something hurtful, or compromise my trust, I would say nothing and just forgive her. I was too afraid to confront her. After all, she might decide to hate me and never be my friend again.

When my husband (now ex-husband) was raking in the dough at his new job and paying off his own bills left and right, I kept quiet while working 3 jobs and still barely making it. Instead of talking to him about it, I silently resented him, more and more every day. I was afraid to tell him how much debt I was in out of fear of being rejected or ridiculed, or worse yet, kicked to the curb.

After my divorce, I started learning how to speak my truth. But as soon as I started dating again, if there was any type of conflict, my then boyfriend, also newly divorced, would say, “This is exactly why I didn’t want to get into another relationship.” And because I was so afraid of losing him, I would just go along with him and be agreeable, no matter how disrespected or wrongfully accused I was. Looking back, I know now that this was an unhealthy relationship. And I don’t excuse him for manipulating me like that. However, I also know that people will get away with whatever you allow them to, so I take full responsibility for letting it happen in the first place.

When my ex-boss would threaten my job if I challenged him in any way, I would sink back down and shut my mouth. After all, I really needed that job, no matter how he or it made me feel.

Yes, this really is how my internal dialogue sounded. I know it’s sick and wrong and sad. But it was how I talked to myself on a daily basis in order to just get by without being left, deserted, or disliked. And all of this because my a-hole of an uncle couldn’t let a child be a child, and didn’t know how to effectively communicate with her. I only wish I could have made this discovery and connection long ago. Going forward, I know now that it is crazy to think that someone who truly cares about me would be so shallow as to not let me speak my mind, my opinions, or my truth. Every day, I am practicing using my voice. And every day, I somehow survive. I have found that when I speak my truth, I actually feel more understood and respected than ever before. What a concept!

So here’s the deal. Children need to feel loved, reassured, and safe. The way we talk to our children now will dictate the adults they become. I also speak about this in my entry called “Your Seven Year Old Self”, and in a live video, titled the same, on my Facebook page, One Saved Penny. Can kids be annoying like I was so many years ago? YES! But are there at least 10 other ways that situation could have been handled without destroying my ability to be a happy and successful child? Absolutely.

The way we are talked to as children translates into how we talk to ourselves. Look at that photo above again. Now imagine how different that little girl’s life may have been with a little love, patience, and tolerance. Please remember that next time you are losing your patience and say something harsh to another human, especially a child. You really can change a child’s life, so let’s make sure it is for the better!

This last September, I faced a BIG fear of mine – driving in the mountains. Just to be clear, I’ve driven in the mountains before. However, I’ve done it on my own terms, at my own speed, and I’ve turned around to go back when I started to get uneasy and queasy. But this time, I was a passenger to a man who knows NO fear (aka Blaine).

We had been looking forward to this trip to Steamboat Springs, Colorado for a long time, and had picked out several “must do” activities during our stay. One of the items on our list of things to do while there was to visit the Strawberry Park Hot Springs. The park has several hot mineral springs that are approximately 104 degrees in temperature, and surrounded by a forest. He assured me that it would be something I would really love. I thought it sounded amazing and couldn’t wait to go. However, what he didn’t tell me was that the springs were located up the mountain, on low-maintenance roads, and only 4-wheel drive vehicles were allowed to make the trek to the Springs.

As we were climbing in elevation, there were several times that I almost chickened out and asked to go back into town. There were times that the road was so steep that I could no longer see it over the hood of the truck. And if another car happened to be going down at the same time as we were going up, there was a very small amount of space to pull over to let the other get past. My stomach was in knots the entire time. My fists and armpits were full of sweat. If Blaine would try to look at the scenery, or over at me to make sure I was ok, or reach over to comfort me, I would yell at him to keep his hands on the steering wheel and his eyes on the road. He was so good to me. He knew I was scared to death, so he drove extra slow, pulled off to the side a few times, and made sure that he didn’t go even one half of a mile over the posted speed limits. Even so, I was still scared to death.

When we finally reached our destination, my legs were weak and I felt pure exhaustion. It was even a challenge for me to walk my rubbery legs down the hill to the changing rooms. But as soon as I saw the Springs, all of those fears were forgotten. I’ve attached the video of the Springs, but no video or words can even begin to do explain how beautiful, relaxing, and peaceful it was. Even with other people enjoying the Springs, I felt that we were in our own little world. We immediately got into the water, and I honestly forgot about everything else. After soaking for a couple of hours, we climbed back into the truck to make our way back down the mountain. I’m not going to say I wasn’t still nervous and scared of the drive back down, but it was nothing in comparison the ride there.

On our drive back home a few days later, we talked about all the things we had done while on our trip. Interestingly, the trip to the Springs was my favorite experience. It was certainly not something I would have done in the past. It does make me feel regretful that I have missed out on so many amazing experiences due to my many fears, but also, so very thankful to have found someone I can trust and who seems to have limitless understanding and patience with me.

While I cannot change the things I’ve missed out on in the past, my goal going forward is to acknowledge my unfounded fears and take them on like my life depends on it. Because nobody goes to their grave saying, “I’m glad I played it safe.”