Different Hats

I consider myself to be “the black sheep” on both sides of my family. The one who doesn’t fit in like a puzzle piece because I was built differently than the rest of the tribe.

What qualifies someone to be a black sheep?

What the hell even is a black sheep?

It’s someone that the family doesn’t accept to be as one of “them”, a disgrace to the bloodline. I like this definition from Merriam-Webster dictionary: “a disfavored or disreputable member of a group.”

That’s me.

I’m the disgrace, the shame, and the embarrassment of one side of the family.

On the other side, I’m a heartless woman with a big mouth.

How did this happen,

What did I do?

I’m the child who opened her mouth and let the secrets out.

The one who divided them all.

That’s what it feels like.

But am I?

The one who made the crack to begin with?

It is the child’s fault from the beginning of where it began?

It’s felt like my fault all of my existence on this planet.

But I know it’s not.

My name is Meghan and this is my story of how I became the black sheep of my family.

Once upon a time I was once a child too, and just like all children who a born to into this world, I knew nothing.

Just a natural innocent creature who just wants to smile and receive love.

But that innocent creature was tainted by another trusted family member. A person who was her grandfather, a father to his children, and a son to his parents. A monster who was already well-established at disguising his true nature.

I know I’m not the only person in this family of mine that knows it, I’m just the only one who acknowledges this fact.

A classic case of a family member molesting another member of the family. It’s usually the ones closest that cause the harm is what I was always told.

And the day that I told my parents about the things happening to me and how it didn’t feel right is when I became the black sheep. It’s the day that my very own pure soul began to fade away.

They let the family know of what was happening because they believed what their child was crying at.

And that same family was angry. Angry at me for the”lies” I was telling and how I was making all of it up.

Angry with a child who was harmed by another family member and she let it all out.

I’m that child who was harmed by another family member and now I tell my story because these things happen in life, whether we expect it or not.

I’m the one who has spent my life with unwanted images and flashbacks that I just can’t throw away.

I’m that child who had all of her family members, except her parents, back away from me because I can’t be trusted.

I’m that tainted black soul who’s had to fight hard to make it pure again. Not you, my family.

I’m the child who finally exposed what type of family they are, and they are no longer apart me.

And that same child has grown up.

I have my own family now, my own children whom I love so much that I would do anything for them.

Now, I get the chance to raise my own beautiful family and start a new generation filled with love, fun, happiness, and doing the right things in life.

My own pure souls that I will always protect and defend no matter what happens.

The child in me crumbled a long time ago, along with my trust and emotional well-being.

Wherever I go, whoever I meet, it’s the same question I ask myself over and over each time – can I trust you?

No, I can’t trust everyone. To be completely honest I’m not even sure I know how to trust because I’m a broken person too.

But one thing I’ve learned that’s important is that I trust myself 100%.

Once upon a time I used to care about what others thought of me and my story and I used to feel shameful for speaking up about it.

Now, I care about connecting with other people who are like me and went through something similar.

I care about my children and how they will look at me someday as they grow up. I want them to see why I’m happy and it’s because of them.

I don’t want them to ever experience the things I’ve been through, all children deserve to have a happy existence.

My focus is on them to live a normal childhood, to be surrounded with a family that love and care for them. For them to wake up each day and be filled with positive thoughts and endless smiles. To be tucked in at night with a kiss and hug.

They don’t need to know my story for a long time, it’s not for them to know at an innocent age.

It’s my job as a parent, as a person who lives with mental illness, to be a functional adult and work on myself when I fall apart. No one else is going to do that for me.

It’s also my job to protect them and keep them safe in this evil, cruel world.

Bad things have happened to me, and because of this, I can’t let bad things happen to them.

My view of people, society, all of that nonsense, has been altered and I’ll never be the same person again.

But it doesn’t have to stop me from living the life I want to live – normal.

Just like many of us, I’m from a dysfunctional family and I have decided to put an end to that generation. I took the scissors and snipped the remaining thread of that lifestyle and said goodbye to all who were connected within that bloodline.

And I don’t have to feel sad anymore about how my family views me. They should feel sad for the child who was hurt.

They should feel shameful for how they treated me and my mom, but they won’t.

And that’s okay.

I’ll continue on with being the black sheep of the family, they can keep pretending to be angels on a farm.