The Consequence of Being One's Self

I have a happy baby. How in the world did that happen? She smiles every morning when she wakes up. She is not fussy, except when she needs to tell us something like "I'm hungry." The daycare providers say she is a calm baby, unlike some in the room. My greatest wish for her is to be happy. It's comforting to know that we must be doing something right; that I must be controlling my depression adequately and not taking my frustration and fear and insecurities out on her. Maybe, just maybe, I am different from my dad! Only time will tell.

I've been thinking... the difference between me and others is that I know I am dysfunctional. I know I have issues, I know what they are, and I am SELF-AWARE. I realize I am supremely imperfect and am willing to admit it. I am working to self-correct, but I know I need help to do it. Yes, I have experienced sex and love addiction and destructive codependency, but I am actively trying to get better. The people who judge and criticize me most likely aren't very self-aware and probably aren't cognizant of the dysfunction swirling around them. It's a difficult and dangerous task, rising above the dysfunction that's got a chokehold on you. It's a life-threatening decision to take. Some of us can't bear the consequences, I suppose.

The consequence of allowing myself to be ME and breaking out of the primary dysfunctional system has been abandonment. It's a tough price to pay. Let me tell you, I miss my sister and I mourn the lost opportunity to watch my nephew grow. It has left a hole in my heart. But, the hole in my spirit was more potent and would have been the death of me. I hate being forced to make choices like this, but perhaps I ought to be grateful, for I am alive and am making a wholesome life for myself and my family for the very first time.