Pain into Beauty Essay -- Personal Narrative Emotional Verbal Abuse Es

Pain into Beauty People look back on their childhoods in different ways. Some see it as a time of joy and laughter, love and learning. Many feel a bittersweet mixture of happy nostalgia, and painful moments. Some prefer not to look back at all, seeking only to move forward. Then there are people like me, who look back in anger, bitterness, and sorrow. It seems that few people enjoy a pain-free upbringing. In fact, the very idea of childhood is a fairly new concept. In the early part of the last century, children were considered miniature adults, and were expected to act that way. Abuse, as defined today, was ignored and sometimes encouraged. â€Å"Spare the rod and spoil the child.† Today, abuse is carefully defined and is illegal, but many cases slip through cracks, for many reasons. One big reason is that the abuse is not physical, or sexual. Emotional and verbal abuse is very hard to prove. I was certainly unable to prove it. I'm not even sure my parents are aware they abused me. It is said that our past make us who we are and I often wonder what my past has made me. I entered this world normally enough, in Tucson, Arizona; in the second hottest month of the year (July); at the hottest time of day (mid-afternoon). I had a mother and father who doted on me. At least, I assume they did. Tragedy struck early in my life, taking my mother from me at the age of two months. She died of a seizure caused by a tumor on her adrenal gland. I never knew her, so I always assumed that her death never really affected me. My boyfriend and therapist feel differently. After all, I may have been an infant, but I still suffered a terrible loss. Had my mother lived, I would likely be writing a happier tale. Yet all was not lost, after all I was not... ...do and think things I never thought I would do, and so in desperation I went to a therapist, before I ruined my relationship altogether. It was here I learned the truth, and it was here I saw how deep the damage goes. It is a black shadow on my heart, and it is one that I am unsure will ever leave. So where is the beauty? It's underneath that shadow, struggling to break free. I see it in the grades I earn and the bills I pay. I see it in my hobbies, and I see it somewhere in myself, a glimmer in my grey eyes. It keeps the fear of loss at bay, and keeps me from making decisions based on that fear. But most of all, I see it daily, in the eyes of my love. I could not have won his heart if I was all of the things my step-mother claimed I was. I could not love him if I was any of those things. So there is beauty inside the pain, and I chip at it daily, working it free Pain into Beauty Essay -- Personal Narrative Emotional Verbal Abuse Es Pain into Beauty People look back on their childhoods in different ways. Some see it as a time of joy and laughter, love and learning. Many feel a bittersweet mixture of happy nostalgia, and painful moments. Some prefer not to look back at all, seeking only to move forward. Then there are people like me, who look back in anger, bitterness, and sorrow. It seems that few people enjoy a pain-free upbringing. In fact, the very idea of childhood is a fairly new concept. In the early part of the last century, children were considered miniature adults, and were expected to act that way. Abuse, as defined today, was ignored and sometimes encouraged. â€Å"Spare the rod and spoil the child.† Today, abuse is carefully defined and is illegal, but many cases slip through cracks, for many reasons. One big reason is that the abuse is not physical, or sexual. Emotional and verbal abuse is very hard to prove. I was certainly unable to prove it. I'm not even sure my parents are aware they abused me. It is said that our past make us who we are and I often wonder what my past has made me. I entered this world normally enough, in Tucson, Arizona; in the second hottest month of the year (July); at the hottest time of day (mid-afternoon). I had a mother and father who doted on me. At least, I assume they did. Tragedy struck early in my life, taking my mother from me at the age of two months. She died of a seizure caused by a tumor on her adrenal gland. I never knew her, so I always assumed that her death never really affected me. My boyfriend and therapist feel differently. After all, I may have been an infant, but I still suffered a terrible loss. Had my mother lived, I would likely be writing a happier tale. Yet all was not lost, after all I was not... ...do and think things I never thought I would do, and so in desperation I went to a therapist, before I ruined my relationship altogether. It was here I learned the truth, and it was here I saw how deep the damage goes. It is a black shadow on my heart, and it is one that I am unsure will ever leave. So where is the beauty? It's underneath that shadow, struggling to break free. I see it in the grades I earn and the bills I pay. I see it in my hobbies, and I see it somewhere in myself, a glimmer in my grey eyes. It keeps the fear of loss at bay, and keeps me from making decisions based on that fear. But most of all, I see it daily, in the eyes of my love. I could not have won his heart if I was all of the things my step-mother claimed I was. I could not love him if I was any of those things. So there is beauty inside the pain, and I chip at it daily, working it free