Embracing Emotional Strengths

"Dare to Cry Part 4" builds upon previous entries by delving deeper into life events related to mental health and self-care. It aims to show that anything is possible when you embrace opportunities to learn from life experiences, even amidst bipolar disorder, PTSD, and the aftermath of sexual and physical abuse.

Self-Care as a Cornerstone

This blog post encourages readers to feel empowered by their ability to learn from life's challenges. It underscores the importance of mental health, trauma recovery, and self-care as crucial elements in fostering emotional strengths and promoting self-improvement in the face of adversity.

The Family and relationships outside work.

Throughout my years, I had given everything to everyone but myself. I disassociated my pain and focused on raising the children and being a good wife.  But it started to crack open slowly, and suddenly it got too much, pressure at work, pressure at home, even extended families. I had to please everyone, and one day I asked myself, “What about ME?” Who do I turn to for my pain and tears? I realised I was my own friend and enemy. 

Suddenly, I was looking at myself and saw I was two separate people in one body. One who was locked in silence and wore a mask to hide the pain that was so deep that it burst wide open the floodgates, the past unconsciously survived due to my staying locked in silence 

My fear kept me a prisoner, feeling rejected and unloved, blaming myself, and ashamed of the past until I bravely confronted it.

It was in 2010 when it started to resurface those darkest days. I was working at a psychiatric hospital for women, and most had similar experiences, and so I started to have these moments of running away from home, which I did leave home. My ex phoned the police, and I had vanished for two days, and the cops picked me up. My memories are vivid, and I recall going out of the house with nothing except my purse. I got to London and walked aimlessly for hours on end, somehow managed to get to Heathrow airport, and there, I bought tickets to fly out of the country, but I had no passport with me. I felt like I was invisible and no one was seeing me. I wandered aimlessly around the airport until I was picked up and taken to the hospital. There I was mostly on medication, so I slept a lot. I was having hallucinations and having conversations with invisible people. 

It was then that I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and PTSD.I tried telling the doctors about my trauma going on inside my head, replaying time and time again. No one listened to me. I was discharged after 6 weeks, given medication,and sent back home.

Those relapses occurred two months before and after my birthday month. I finally began my healing in 2023 

The recurring memories made me have panic attacks, anxiety, depression, and fear. What was the trauma, you ask?

Letting go of childhood trauma.

From the age of five,I was molested by an older man, whom I knew as a relative in the family. This continued till I was seven years old. My home was made of tin, kids slept one one room and parents in the other room. Clothes and dishes were washed outside. There was no electricity; there were paraffin lamps. Parents are always fighting,  shouting, and screaming at each other. It was physical fights, and the crying never stopped.

Moved to another town, another house, bigger with more rooms, but no electricity, used candles to do homework, meals were done on a Primus stove.  Always hungry, picking up shrubs to eat from the garden. Crying in the temple, asking the statues, Why? Who are you? Why didn't you help us?

Twelve years old, molested and beaten, left for dead on the beach in my school uniform. It changed me. I was numb inside, where I was an A student, my grades showed that I was declining, and nobody listened when I tried to tell them of my ordeal. They called me a liar and said I made it all up.  I was a failure and a disappointment to everyone, went from a bright and bubbly person to a rebel. I hated my life. I hated being a girl, and most of all, I was ashamed of myself and guilty that I allowed it to happen to me.

For the next few years, I was still physically and mentally abused, so when the proposal came, I fell for his sweet talk. My books were taken back to school at sixteen, and I was marriage material. For the next one and a half years, I was physically, mentally, and sexually abused by him. He was a cruel man, beat me daily while I was pregnant and starved me for days on end. The neighbours heard my screams, but no one dared help me. I was now five months pregnant, and I had come back from the hospital feeling so happy. I felt the first movements.

But I was in for another surprise! His mother was sitting in the lounge with her friend, and she saw me and both laughed before I could utter a word. I quietly went upstairs, and there I found him in bed with another woman. He just laughed at me, and I grabbed the bedside lamp and threw it at him. Grabbed the girl by her hair and smacked her. There was chaos in the room. When he finally tried to reach me, I escaped and locked myself in the bathroom. I cried nonstop.

He banged the door so hard I thought he was going to break it down. I remained in the bathroom for what seemed like an eternity. Then I slowly got up from the floor and opened the bathroom door. All was silent, I crept into the room and hurriedly packed my few clothes into a bag and left the house silently. 

 Till I dared to escape. Again, I had to run for my life 

After two buses,I arrived with swollen feet, hungry to go to my family home. Mother was in the garden. She gave me a glass of water and made me sit outside. She came back a while later and said I had to return to him as there was no place for me. I begged and pleaded not to go back, but it fell on deaf ears.

The neighbour who used to live nearby had moved to another town, and by sheer luck, they were visiting that day. They saw me outside crying, went in, and after an hour came out and said You are coming with us.

I was so excited again in my young mind, and I felt so blessed. They were a happy, Christian family. They took great care of me until the day the baby was born.

It turned my happiness from elevated to despair. The next three months were horrific events, and finally, I had to do something drastic.I went to the family doctor, and I bawled my eyes out. He listened in silence. Finally, he told me to leave the town and find a way to get work and support the baby. In the meantime, I should leave the child with my parents. He would make sure the child had milk and nappies as long as he is around; with his assurance, I felt compelled to take the next step forward. Heavy in my heart,I had to leave the child and come back when I was stable with a job and a home to bring her up.

I ran away from the family home, leaving a note for the baby, and with a few clothes, I once again slipped quietly out of the house towards freedom. 

The note I wrote, I promised I would return to fetch the baby and take care of her as soon as I was settled. Over the years, I kept my promise. Many fights, tears, and when the baby turned into a young lady, I told her who I was, yet she wouldn't accept me as her mother. So many sleepless nights