In my dream I was back in that small, dark bedroom at my grandparents’ house. It felt so real. I could feel the texture of the knitted wool blanket covering me in the narrow twin bed. Earlier that day I had felt like something wasn’t quite right, and I had tried to call my parents to come and pick me up. 

The phone felt heavy in my 7-year-old hands, and I was so proud of myself that I remembered our phone number. I had been practicing at home, sitting in the comfortable chair, listening to vinyl records on my parents’ record player while repeating the numbers my dad had written down on the piece of paper. Over and over again.  

As the line began to ring I felt hopeful, knowing that help was on the way. I kept looking over my shoulder to make sure no one would stop me from reaching out. I didn’t want my grandparents to hear my call for help. But I wasn’t able to convince my parents to come. They didn’t understand the danger I felt I was in. My little-girl self could not find the words to express the urgent need to be picked up right NOW and be rescued. 

Obviously in hindsight my parents probably just thought I missed them and was nervous about spending the night away from home. They tried to calm me down, and it broke my heart when we hung up. It hit me like a ton of bricks that they were not coming. I was stuck. Trapped. I tried to push away the feeling of inevitable doom and instead focus on making gingerbread cookies with my grandmother. I remember it being cold and dark outside, so it must have been during the winter months. It gets dark so early in Sweden that time of year. 

My next memory is from later that evening, having gone to bed and then hearing the door open. My grandfather came in and silently closed the door behind him. For years I blocked out what happened next. So far down into the bottom of my soul that it wasn’t until in my late 30s that I let myself remember. 

Then I heard a voice yelling. It was my grandmother calling out my grandfather’s name and the word “STOP!!!” I took this opportunity to run out of the little room and hide in the bathroom. I quickly locked the door with trembling hands and leaned my little body against the door to make sure he couldn’t open it. I don’t know how many hours I spent in there, all I remember is the image of my grandmother’s teeth in a glass, floating in water on the sink. 

When my parents came the following morning I tried to tell them what had happened, but they probably didn’t understand what I was saying or believed me. It must have been incomprehensible to them. They thought I had been in a safe place. Grandparents are supposed to be a haven.  

To me, that was the worst part. Not having been believed, seen, and comforted. Not taken into their arms and loved completely. Even when I brought it up years later it was met with resistance and disbelief. I have let this be the story of my life until now, and I need it to stop. 

I’m 45-years old now, and being back in that room in my dreams, having to yell at myself, “Wake up! It’s not really happening! You’re safe now.” made me realize that I needed to do some serious self healing. I was spiraling out of control. 

The way I had been leading my life until recently was no longer working. I was dealing with anxiety, depression, addiction, codependency, and I had absolutely no love for myself. How could I? The story I had told myself was that my parents didn’t love me because they left me there. That my words don’t matter. Even if I speak up, people won’t believe me. It’s all in my head. It probably didn’t even happen. How could anyone love me? I sure didn’t. 

I realized that I had become a master at running away. The year my grandfather passed, I had just finished college and was supposed to start my “grown-up life”. Instead I packed my bags and quit my job, leaving on a 6-month trip that I never really returned from. 

Somehow, by listening to my intuition and by the grace of the loving Universe I have done pretty well for myself. I have 3 absolutely amazing children and a loving husband. My parents have been supportive over the years and a big part of our lives. We have built our dream home in Sarasota, and I want to stop running away. I’m home. 

I want to start living my life to the fullest. To do that I need to bring this story out of the shadows and start taking it down, brick by brick. I have let it control my life for far too long. The suffering ends here. It was not my fault and I am not alone. I deserve love and my children deserve a healthy mom who does not numb herself with alcohol, cigarettes, food, binge watching TV, or unhealthy codependent relationships. A mom who can sit in silence and not look for ways to bury the truth. 

I’m done feeling sorry for myself. It’s time to start living and be present with everything around me. The world is a beautiful place – if I decide to view it that way.

I’m a strong powerful woman. And I’m ready to start living.