As I’ve written before, I was conditioned since birth by two very narcissistic, abusive caregivers. I don’t call them parents — there was no love. Just expectations, orders, and discipline. That’s how I was raised, and that’s what created the woman I am today.
The side effects of that conditioning have clinical names, clean labels meant to indicate trauma. I call them a giant pain in the ass. They cause discomfort and embarrassment, and half the time I don’t even realize I’m doing them. It’s muscle memory — automatic, ingrained, and invisible until someone reacts. Crossing the battlefield of my childhood and my marriage taught me well.
There are several things my muscle memory has carved into me. The most consistent one: everything is dangerous. Everything is something to fear, something to be wary of. Kindness inches closer and my body screams, Run — this can’t be good. I hesitate, and when kindness finally reaches me, I recoil as if scalded. I take it cautiously, scanning for danger because I know it’s out there. Gratitude gets replaced with doubt. Why me? What did I do? What’s going to happen now? I smile and say thank you, all while calculating the cost.
I don’t withhold trust to punish people. I withhold trust to protect the part of me that once paid for it. Everything always had a cost — earlier this year, it was my soul. I have nothing left to cover that debt. My common sense, and my therapist, tell me that some things are given freely. Logically, I know that. But inside, there’s a tug‑of‑war: one part saying run, the other whispering maybe it’s okay. It’s exhausting. I stand there a second too long, trying to look grateful, and instead I look like a blithering fool.
But this is a new chapter, right? I’m trying to retrain my muscle memory, a little at a time. I’m trying to believe the new me doesn’t have to be so afraid. I’m trying to stand a little taller and accept that maybe — just maybe — I’m deserving. My red flag of fear has faded to yellow. Proceed with caution, my brain says, while it tries to retrain my muscles and nervous system.
I’m learning to trust again, carefully. Some gestures only require a thank you. Some things only cost gratitude.
Here I am, collecting one yellow flag at a time. Maybe I’ll make a quilt,
K.
I'm Still Here. Somehow... 