Childhood traumas can negatively impact permanent development changes in the brain, and be an ongoing contributing factor to various psychiatric problems like anxiety, depression, panic attacks, and post traumatic stress disorder.
In short, the body, heart, and mind remember the old trauma.
The resulting shame, pain, guilt, and despair of the childhood trauma is then either acted inwards as depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation, dissociation, or post-traumatic stress, or acted outwards as compulsivity, substance abuse, aggression, or hyperactivity. In either case, the thought processes and behaviours lead back to a sense of trying to escape oneself.
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"We got into the finals." I watch my brother's eyes glow with joy, with a tint of pride.
"We always do," I say getting back to painting my nails. Our school always make it to the finals, it's not anything new.
"Not with me," he says. It was his first time. Basketball has always been everything to him, it has been more important than anything on earth. Now he knows he's great at it, he can do something. And now I know why our parents have always tried their best to prevent us from dreaming. He'll have his dreams where he's a great basketball player, then he'll grow up to realise that the dream he has cherished was worthless, it was nothing but a waste of his time. All I know is I can't see that happen to my little brother, the one I've been taught to protect no matter what.
"I am proud of you." I squeeze his thigh lightly. For some reason he doesn't look happy anymore,
"Mom isn't," his voice starts to break down, "You know Ash, she's right. Basketball's got nothing to give me."
A sigh escapes my mouth. Mom's right, but it's his dream. He can't just back away this way. What does my dream have to offer me? Nothing. It just gives me hope, more dreams and that's why I've still kept it ignoring what people says. "Then you should prove her wrong."
He bites his lower lip. "You know it won't happen."
"I know," I mutter. I know the chance of proving her wrong is even less than one in a million. After all, we've grown up in a third world country where all you can think of is surviving which isn't an easy thing. We are among the only half of the population who has got at least a place to call home. But that's what makes us fighters. I know we can fight a lot more than most people can. People here don't believe in cherishing their dreams but we do. I've come this far, and I know I will pull him with me if I have to.
"I know," I say clearly now, "But that's why it's a dream. Because no matter how they tell you that you can't have it, you'll get it. Don't let anything change what you believe"
No matter how dark the storm I always scampered back with the wide eyes of a child, confused, hiding the fear. Two people you love with all your heart go to war and you are the one in the middle, always. Each desire to know whom you love more, but in truth there is no such distinction. They ask and should the "right" answer not arrive where there is anger, swift and brutal. Who in this world tolerates the notion of equal love, even from a child? In truth it was my parents that were like children, fighting over a toy until it broke. Even then they carried on, not caring for the damage they'd inflicted. It was difficult, in truth every harsh word was as a lash from a whip, though they never saw it. All they saw was the outpouring of love I gave them and in their hatred of one another preferred not to share.
I'm not a child anymore; I grew up many years ago. Life was never easy with Mum and Dad, but after they both left it was hell. In some ways my life improved. There were good people who cared, enough food and clothes. But every time I saw a cut flower I knew how it felt. It had no roots at all, nothing to anchor it to this world; yet was still expected to give its beauty, to flourish and warm the hearts of others. No-one can see my vulnerability; they cannot see the roots I lack. I paint the world with the vibrancy of my laughter, hugs and kindness. I look forward to the future and work hard in everything I do. One day I will be a parent; will I do better? What will happen when my children reach the age at which my own parents walked away, abandoning this burden they no longer wished to carry? I vow to be everything they weren't and give what they did not - security and unconditional love. I pray to God to give me that strength, to help me funnel the love that he gives me to my children.
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