I was treated like the black sheep of my family growing up, so in my defense I built a wall of protection over the years; a wall to protect me from continued rejection and despair. I keep my family at arm’s length but to no avail. I can’t let go of the hurt and so they are always with me. My thoughts dwell on the past and I continue to suffer and my suffering has led to bitterness and my bitterness has increased into unforgiveness.
My wall has been built brick by brick, hurt by hurt, incident by incident until it has become tall and wide and strong, spanning over my lifetime. An unwelcome phone call will lay another brick on the ledge or a neglected phone call, still another.
I face my wall and dwell on the past time and again; always remembering this brick here near the bottom, when I was ten and my father punished me for something my brother had done. The sons were always the favored ones in the family and I, being one of the oldest girls, had to grow up too soon.
That brick there, to the right, was the day I lay next to mother while she napped. I placed her unwary arm over me just so I could have a hug; a hug I yearned for but one she never gave voluntarily. I always craved her affection but there were just too many children in the house.
Another brick was laid the day I heard my sister saying unkind things about me to her friends. I was later snubbed at school. Nobody knew they were lies and I could not defend myself; I was never believed and the worst was always thought of me.
That whole row there at eye level was built brick by brick each time I saw the favoritism shown to my siblings while I was the last to receive anything, not even a word of encouragement. When finally spoken, it was given grudgingly. My only saving grace was the love and attention from my grandmother who observed the unbalanced affection in our home. She made me feel special in small ways, as only she was able to do.
