Thursday, 26 June 2014

Words Hurt.

'F****in' Bitch' said to me by my beautiful, blue-eyed, kind-hearted 3-year old boy when I wouldn't give him a cookie. I can't blame him, he's heard me say it to myself so many times he must think it's normal.

But it hurts. Words hurt, even if the person saying them is only 3. They hurt because at the back of your mind, they bring up a niggling doubt 'Is it true?' no matter how much we try to tell ourselves we disregard words, I think on some level, they always leave a mark.

It hurts because even now, my behaviour, my language, and my thought processes have a taken a little of the joy out of the world for this child of mine.

It hurts, because it's almost like the saying of it makes it true. Allowing a small child to hear me talk that way, is pretty darn bitchy.

But now, no matter how much I think it, I can't say it. No matter how much I believe it, I can't say it, because it's not about me any more.

And maybe, eventually, I'll be able to drown out the voice altogether, and say, and believe, that I'm ok, that I'm lovable, and that my husband and kids don't require perfection from me, just love.

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