No Regrets.
"Whether I'm a Goody Two-Shoes or not, I can't say. For one thing, I don't really know what that is- somebody who's constantly happy or tirelessly helpful to everybody? If so, that's not me. I get tired and depressed just like everybody else. But if it means somebody who'd rather focus on the good stuff than wail about the bad, then I'll have to accept the silly name. As for having a trouble-free life, I haven't. I hate even telling people this because they're always so horrified by it, and don't know what to say to me, but in this thing I guess i'ts okay because you don't have to say anything back unless you want to. My parents divorced when I was 11 years old. That was the biggest, worst thing. There was other stuff too- my mom kind of freaked out on being single for a while, and my younger brother got pretty distant. But those things straightened out somewhat, and we're all alright now. The only thing that can never change is change itself-that you just have to live with. If you still have both your parents together, you can't imagine how much it hurts when one of them goes away, or how frightened or disoriented it feels. I was so young I didn't really understand change(I guess I still don't), and I kept thinking things would go back to normal somehow, even though I knew they wouldn't. Maybe change is too big a thing for anybody to really get a handle on, but when your'e 11 and the person who leaves is your parent who you love so much, it's like being in the middle of a tornado that just won't stop ripping you apart. Finally the wind dies down and your'e still standing. So your'e probably saying, doesn't she regret that her parents left? Wouldn't she like to have them back? Of course I would, but my regrets won't accomplish that, will they? I don't regret my time in the tornado either, because it made me who I am today: someone who knows she can weather anything. So when I say "no regrets" I mean there's no reason to look back, wishing you could change things. I do look back with sadness sometimes, but just as often I remember the happy times I had with both of my parents. And I always look to the future with hope. If you have no regrets, you stop wishing you could rearrange your past, and you start looking forward to whatever is up ahead." - Hard Love with moderations by Ellen Wittlinger.
"Dear Mom- The problem isn't what you did do, it's what you didn't. At first, when dad left, I was scared, but at least I still had you-(or so I thought)-you hadn't run away from me. It didn't take long to realize how wrong I was. You were gone too. Sealed up inside yourself where I couldn't get in, never mind that we still lived in the same house. I'm going to dare to say it now-so brace yourself-the thing we never talk about: the fact that you can't bear to touch me, or have me touch you. Not even an accidental brushing of the hands, a bump of shoulders, knees under the table. Certainly not the kind of touching most children get regularly: a hand on a fevery forehead, a game of tickling, a goodnight kiss. For years, I made up excuses for you, and tried to convince myself you didn't really hate me as much as you hated dad. But the evidence didn't confirm it. So I took all the sadness of the divorce, and all the love I'd once had for you, and all the fear I had of being alone, and turned it into a stone wall to hide behind. To protect myself. I'm so protected now, dear mother, sometimes I feel like I'm barely alive. I am immune to emotion. And I hate you for it." - Hard Love with moderations by Ellen Wittlinger.
"Dear Mom- The problem isn't what you did do, it's what you didn't. At first, when dad left, I was scared, but at least I still had you-(or so I thought)-you hadn't run away from me. It didn't take long to realize how wrong I was. You were gone too. Sealed up inside yourself where I couldn't get in, never mind that we still lived in the same house. I'm going to dare to say it now-so brace yourself-the thing we never talk about: the fact that you can't bear to touch me, or have me touch you. Not even an accidental brushing of the hands, a bump of shoulders, knees under the table. Certainly not the kind of touching most children get regularly: a hand on a fevery forehead, a game of tickling, a goodnight kiss. For years, I made up excuses for you, and tried to convince myself you didn't really hate me as much as you hated dad. But the evidence didn't confirm it. So I took all the sadness of the divorce, and all the love I'd once had for you, and all the fear I had of being alone, and turned it into a stone wall to hide behind. To protect myself. I'm so protected now, dear mother, sometimes I feel like I'm barely alive. I am immune to emotion. And I hate you for it." - Hard Love with moderations by Ellen Wittlinger.