Wynsday's Child

I was a strong-willed child. Or at least that’s how I was labeled. I asked questions that the adults around me couldn’t answer. I unknowingly called them out on their poor behavior. I moved to my own rhythm. I struggled with math and reading. I strived to understand the world and the people around me. I failed to just passively accept the duplicity of the religion and culture in which I was raised. I treasured and held dear the things that others labeled strange or different or weird because I understood them the most. These things that defined me meant I was a problem to be managed. No one in my circle, my parents, teachers, or church, would even bother acknowledging that I may have needed help and support. I was dramatic, weird, a daydreamer who doesn’t listen. I was hard headed when I wouldn’t accept things at face value. I needed a strong hand to keep me in line… or so they thought.

Enter James Dobson and his book The Strong-Willed Child. My mother was raised in the physial-abuse-is-God’s-love style, so he made sense to her. Dobson gave her permission to beat the shit out of me and my brother in the name of God, in the name of training a child in the way they should go. I knew the anger coming from my mother wasn’t “God’s love” and it certainly didn’t come from a place of love in her. I could feel her pain with every strike, but even as I child I knew it was not mine to bear. It should have never been forced on me.  To paraphrase one of my favorite vloggers, Monte Mader: If you hit another adult you could be charged with assault. If you hit a dog, you will be charged with animal cruelty. Why then is it acceptable to hit a child who is still learning how the world works?

I was abused. It’s still difficult for me to say. But over the last 8 years since my divorce from my second husband, I’ve been on a journey. Journey is such a weird way to phrase it. No, I’ve been digging into the deepest depths of myself to get back to me, to heal the inner child, the inner teenage, and to become the adult version of me that I wish to be. I was a strong-willed child, and that is a beautiful thing. I knew who I was even then. And I know who I am now. This is my story.