Therapy session. Entry 1

"You should write a book!" is often the response I get when I share some details of my past. Whether they're fascinated by how I was moved around most of my life or finding out about some of the traumas I've gone through, it usually ends with them encouraging me to write a book.
I've wanted to for years. Though I'm glad I never followed through in my earlier years  - not because I didn't want to share my story but because my story had barely begun.

Now, as I shuffle through all the paperwork of my past, it seems like a good time to dip my toes into this mess I called my past. Like a good little bride, I waited until the last minute to get ready for the big day. No? Just me? With a little over 2 months to go, I needed to find my Certification of Birth Abroad (no birth certificate) along with proof of address to get my marriage license.  It turns out I have nothing "official" (besides my living, breathing body) to show that I was born.

How did I end up here?

I think this part of the past is boring - just the facts - but others seem to enjoy it. I was born in S. Korea to a Korean mother and an American father. Inchon is a port city so it's a hopping place for sailors from around the world. My father worked as a civil engineer for the Navy so without being told how they met exactly, I think we can all figure it out.  What my mother did was questionable. I just knew (and later confirmed) that she worked in clubs and I rarely saw her -- which was a good thing since she was either hungover and angry or still drunk. I bounced back and forth from her place and my halmoni. Halmoni means "grandmother" though she wasn't technically my grandmother. Not sure the details on how that all came about but I know she was the one who raised me for the most part. We were thick as thieves and if my mom were to come around, she'd stick up for me.

I hardly ever saw my father since he was always on the boat. But when I did, it was a special treat. I was treated like a daddy's girl, even if we couldn't even speak the same language.  As the girl of the family, I was treated as if I didn't matter. As an Amerasian in Korea, I was dealt with racism on a daily basis. But I felt I was special when he was around. It was a big affair when he came home. I was summoned to clean up my mom's place, getting rid of any evidence of a man living there. I can't confirm what his relationship was to my mom but I knew I hated him. He was the first memory of abuse.

And this is about as far as I get in any of my previous attempts of typing up my past. I still feel the shame and anger but mostly immense sadness for that little girl. I was maybe 4 when the abuse started? At least that's when the memories start. And it wasn't until I was 13yrs old that the cycle of sexual abuse ended - in a different country and a different family. There were more adventures for that 13 yr old. Though I desperately did everything I could to end my life at that time...
I've been told that trauma and abuse create wounds you can't see. Even if you come to terms with your past, the scars will always be there. I must've been slapping bandaids on and calling it good - or keep scraping at the scabs... I think it's time to really let the scars heal.

These posts may not be for you and I understand the sensitivity of the subjects (I will never go into detail of the abuses). I will continue to post race and training recaps. These posts are for fellow survivors and those who may still be victims. I have to be their voice. Please respect that and keep any comments or messages to me also respectful.

**I somehow managed to delete all the beautiful comments you left me along with my replies** I feel a little nauseous... but know I love and appreciate you!!