I was born whole. Ten tiny toes and fingers. Just a little tuft of hair, a sweet little face with pursed lips. Born to be loved and learn to love. But what if the part about being held and nurtured didn’t happen? What if I were crushed like a fragile flower before it could bloom?

What went wrong?

We all have our own stories. Mine began when I began. Born to a mother who had room for me in her womb but never had room for me in her heart.
Soon my sweet heartfelt and my huge eyes saw more than I should ever have experienced. I was unwanted because I was a “mistake,” then at birth, I was REALLY unwanted because I was not the boy they hoped for. I blew it twice. All before I was one day old.

In my case, my abusers, my parents, blamed me, their victim. This is often the case with abuse. It doesn’t matter when, why or how- abuse is abuse.

We are the invisible “Me Too,” the poster children who never had a choice or a chance. We wish to wear a thick cloak that keeps us in a place that’s safe and warm- but inside, our souls are colder than the winter winds that blow icy shards of sleet in our face and into our heart. We are used to that feeling- many of us are still stuck in that inclement, seemingly everlasting subzero Siberian terrain.

So what brings us to now? I am here as proof that survival can and does happen. As we begin to realize that we are the caterpillars nature never gave up on, we entertain the notion of hope. We can’t go on thinking we are losing everything because of our abuse. We are still here. If we dare, for just one moment we can allow ourselves to see the time, tenacity and beautiful future we’ve not yet found. Like caterpillars, we need to give ourselves the opportunity to let healing happen.

We are those who stop the pupa from becoming a glorious butterfly that spreads its wings and helps itself to find the nectar in life. It’s there. We all have spectacular wings beneath the layers of scar tissue we’ve formed, layer upon layer. We can’t fly with that hindrance, but we CAN fly! Let it happen. Take the risk.

If you’ve ever watched a butterfly emerge from a cocoon, you will see the evolution of hope. It’s not pretty. It’s trusting in nature. It’s a hidden hope. It’s a journey on tracks we believed are no longer in use.

But WE are the trains built to barrel through rain and snow to pull into the station. Our journey awaits us. Fear and inclement weather are silent sirens there to alert us we are perfectly capable of seeking and securing a free, unchained and encumbered destination. We mustn’t wait for the itinerary days or years away. Every hour counts. Board the platform. Seek the sanctuary inherent in unfolding your wings. Find your way to freedom. I did. It was worth the struggle. It was worth the happiness I now enjoy.

Just look at the wings that carried me to YOU.