Goodbye, Confidence
As a child navigating the turmoil of divorce, I realize now that grief first touched my heart at the tender age of six. Yet, my emotional maturity struggled to grasp the transformative power of that grief; it merely manifested as a profound sense of sadness and unfairness over my dad’s departure. I can still vividly recall the small washroom where I sought solace after my parents sat us down to share their decision to separate. It became my refuge—a place where I could release the tears I felt too vulnerable to shed in front of them.
Perhaps it was in those early moments of grief that I learned to stifle my emotions. I became a quiet child, often lost in my own world, spending countless hours playing with my Barbies, watching Disney movies, and dancing alone. These solitary activities offered me a glimmer of hope, a way to craft a life of pretend amidst the chaos. Although my dad never physically left our lives, he was a constant presence—reliable and committed, showering us with love and weekend adventures. In hindsight, I understand that the decision my parents made to separate required immense strength and courage. It was a testament to their self-love, allowing them to pursue their happiness, and in turn, they gifted us with two loving parents who remained dedicated to our well-being.
With the separation of my parents came the introduction of new figures in our lives, including a stepmother who embodied strength, independence, and hard work. She loved my dad, but despite her devotion, she struggled to be the partner he needed. For years, we lived in the basement of her parents' home, where summer days were filled with laughter by the pool, and I can still recall the sensation of my swim cap being tugged off, pulling at my hair. I cherished the moments spent in her room, trying on her jewelry, experimenting with makeup, and painting my nails. She was a source of joy, and over time, she and my dad welcomed two more brothers into our family. Yet, life taught me once again that not everyone is meant to stay in my journey; she became a blink, a brief glimpse in the tapestry of my life. In time, she and my dad parted ways, and we moved forward, carrying the lessons learned.
My stepdad entered my life when I was young, a stark contrast to my father. I remember questioning how my mom could choose him, feeling that he lacked the loving and beautiful qualities my dad possessed. Yet, I realize now that it was her journey to navigate, and through that journey, she brought us yet another brother. To recap, my parents had me, along with my brother and sister, and through the separation, we gained a total of three more brothers. Our family was growing, and with each addition, I felt a sense of blessing amidst the changes we were experiencing.
I grew to love my stepdad, a man much like a double-edged sword. He was strong-willed and resolute, living by the motto: “My way or no way.” The lessons he imparted frequently leaned towards “do as I say, not as I do,” often leaving my siblings and me grappling with feelings of inadequacy.
I remember one particular day, filled with innocent pride and the hope of impressing him. The wood delivery had arrived, and my siblings were nowhere in sight. I took it upon myself to start stacking the logs, imagining his approving smile as I skillfully arranged them. But when he pulled into the driveway, the brief elation I felt dissipated like mist. He walked towards me, irritation etched on his face, and with a swift motion, he knocked the entire stack to the ground.
I stood there, stunned, the crushing weight of his disappointment settling on my chest.
Goodbye, confidence.
