I spent years wrapped in guilt.
I walked away from my father because the abuse had risen to a level that was no longer safe. Shutting that door, meant shutting it forever. And I knew it would hurt.
I put his emotional needs above my own. I was worried about how my leaving had hurt him, despite the fact that I would be dead if I had stayed. I wanted him to know how sorry I was, that I left but it had hurt like hell. I didn’t want him to think that I didn’t care. Words of apology would never suffice, he’d never believe me. So I used my body, I used my body to convey what words could never say. I starved myself.
It’s taken till now to realize, I did nothing wrong. He tried to kill me and I’m the one who feels sorry about it? That makes no sense. His emotions don’t matter. I don’t deserve to punish myself for this.
I’m allowed to let go. I’m allowed to be happy. I’m giving myself the freedom to feel peace. I am deserving of such.