I didn’t even realize last Sunday was Father’s Day until I read something about it on a blog last night. Makes me wonder if I did know that subconsciously and that’s where my problems stemmed from Sunday afternoon and evening.
I try not to acknowledge Father’s Day, or Mother’s Day for that matter. What’s the point? Yeah. They’re my parents, but they weren’t much of parents. I had teachers and mentors that were better parents than mine were.
So, it’s been a rough few days emotionally. I’ve managed to keep it together at work for the most part. I really enjoy being around my kids. But there are times it feels like knives being driven through my heart.
For some reason, the hardest time for me is when I’m supervising recess. I watch the kids (ages 5 and 6) running around the playground and I’m so aware of how different I was at that age. I don’t have a lot of clear memories. But I do remember sitting off in a corner by myself during recess. I remember feeling so different from other kids my age the entire time I was growing up.
But other than the issues during recess, I’ve just gone to work and taught my classes and dealt with the flashbacks as best I can. Not to say that I’ve been dealing with them well. I still have a tendency to start to dissociate when they start. It’s noisy enough at work that I don’t slip to far away. But at home is a totally different story.
I just keep trying to tell myself that all this stuff is in the past. And as bad as it feels, there’s nothing in the memories that can hurt me. So why is it so hard to believe that sometimes?