I don't know when it happened exactly, but at some point in my childhood I decided to stop remembering all the bad things that were happening to me. I would somehow forget about it. My sister's memories fill in the blanks for me, but I feel like I've missed out on some of my childhood. Granted, these were bad memories; I still feel robbed.
I am disappointed in myself sometimes. Like why can't my PTSD be done by now. Of course I didn't get diagnosed until about five years ago. Still, why do I feel in such a hurry sometimes... ok, honestly almost all the time.
I'm forty-four years old and still am a stay-at-home mother. Does that sound bad? Why should it sound bad when our daughter is three and a half. I'm not sure. Isn't it important to be a good mother?
I just feel underwhelmed sometimes. But yet these moments with my children when they are small have been my favorite memories ever.