When my aunt passed away last December, I was made executor of her will and estate. Something that I felt wasn’t my place or that I should do. It wasn’t because I felt I couldn’t do it, but because I lived in another country and I knew that it would cause some issues within the family, which it ultimately did, that I should decline. I ultimately didn’t. For whatever reason my aunt had, she chose me, and I felt I was obligated to carry out her wishes.

I visited Ireland back in April, and I spent a week there, where I finalized a lot of legalities to carry out her wishes. It was very difficult for me, but I did what was asked of me, and I am glad I did.

While in Ireland, I managed to gather some family mementos to bring back home, most of which were photographs that I had never seen. It has taken me until now to begin looking through the photographs, and every one that I see fills me with emotion that I never thought possible. I have so many lost years in my life. Years that I never truly got to experience because those experiences were taken from me.

Trauma wires our brains for protection

Being reminded of milestones through photographs it hits deep to know that, for so long and for so many years I never had respite from the after-effects of my child abuse. My memory has so many holes that it feels like swiss cheese. And the worst part is I feel like I wasted the best years of my life, closed off, traumatized and co-dependent.

I look at my daughter, who is soon to turn 15, and it makes me think about my life when I was her age, and yet I have very little recollection of that time. What I do remember makes me sad and stirs feelings in me that I want to over come or at the very least not allow them to be a trigger. It almost feels like a mourning process.

Now that I recently turned 52, I have many more years away from the trauma than in it, and I have processed what happened, and even then, it is no longer fresh or recalled with all the details. So, I may never remember all the moments I wish for, but in hindsight, it may be a good thing.

I am doing my very best to move forward. To not look back, but it’s hard when you long for something you never had and see your siblings thrive with all their memories and life experiences and you are on the outside looking in, and the one thing that keeps me motivated is knowing that everyone is on their own time line. That society doesn’t get to dictate how we live or process our experiences. And because of that, I am doing things now that I didn’t get to do before and that is perfectly okay.

One foot in front of the other is all there is sometimes

I sometimes feel like I am way ahead of other people in some ways, but sometimes I feel that I’ll be unlearning bad habits and behaviors until I die. But aren’t we all? Mine are simply a little more complex than the average person.

I regularly question what I have made of my life and yet when I break it down there are things I am proud of. I am a father to an amazing young woman. Who is my world. I am successful in my career. I live in one of the greatest cities in the world, and I have people who love me for everything I am. Warts and all. Yes, I may be emotionally in a different place and I may not have the fundamental life experiences we are supposed to have. But I am doing okay.

I may have many lost years and long for things I may never get to experience. But I am alive. I have survived some horrible shit and I can tell my story.

That is something to be proud of.