Evaluation of My Self-esteem

Introduction

Last night I debated on doing my homework for this Psych class. Should I put all my thoughts and feelings about myself out in the open to the teacher? Should I admit my biggest weakness? I hate being vulnerable, and doing the homework would show my vulnerabilities. After asking myself those questions, I realized maybe I should do the homework. Not because I HAVE to, but because I need to stop bottling my emotions.

Assignment Reflection

My homework was to evaluate my self-esteem and write an essay about it. I knew it was going to hurt letting my feelings out, but sometimes it’s okay to let it out. So, to answer the question about how I feel about my self-esteem and how my self-esteem is, I’m going to start from the beginning.

Early Childhood and Trauma

My self-esteem was just beginning to form fully when I was only six years old. My mom left me alone with a stranger because my babysitter was late. He was her new boyfriend, a man I barely knew. He didn’t rape me or anything, but he did hurt me. I felt something was wrong with him and begged my ma’ to stay. She had work, though. When she left, I was crying, and he started yelling and screaming, telling me to shut up. I cried even harder, and he called me names. I snapped out, and he chased me into my room and cornered me. I was terrified and shaking in fear. I could feel his anger radiating from his body. Cowering away from him, he back-handed me across the face and punched me in the jaw.

The Impact of Abuse

When my babysitter finally showed up late, I hid my face and cried in her arms. When we got to her house, she saw the mark. She asked what happened, and I told her. She shook her head and said somebody would deal with it. My grandma found out the next day from my babysitter, and she called the cops. I always thought my ma’ had called them, but later on, I found out she didn’t. She told me I shouldn’t have yelled at him, that I shouldn’t have been a brat. It was my fault. She stayed with him. As I grew up, he was always around. When he was angry, he hit me and hurt me. Called me fat, ugly, fatty, worthless, etc. I believed him. I still kinda believe him. I see myself as all of those things because it’s all I’ve ever been told.

Protecting My Family

As I got older, it got worse. He tried to hit my siblings and mother, so I would make him mad at me. Make him call me things and hit me. I deserved it anyway. That’s what I thought. I had to protect my family. I was eight and older, raising five children and two adults. Too afraid to tell someone. No one believed me anyway. A caseworker told me I deserved to be beaten. I was a bad child. Growing up, I believed I was fat and ugly, worthless and useless. I would numb the pain by cutting myself. Physical pain was better than mental pain. It felt soothing.

Struggles with Addiction

Why did my mom allow him to beat me? To throw me around? To do this to us? She’s an addict. I’m an addict too. I crave a fix of a blunt or something to numb the pain. I don’t do it anymore, but I did at one point give in to the cravings. People told me before that I would end up like my mother. I believed them. So, I did what she does—I numbed the pain with drugs. If I was high, nothing could hurt me. Nothing could tear me apart.

New Beginnings and Setbacks

As I got older, I was still protecting my family from him. I went from home to home with other family members because my mom said I ruined everything. Said I deserved it. I acted up at those family members because I couldn’t get close to them; my own mother betrayed me. I pushed people away because my own family wouldn’t believe me. Wouldn’t listen to my silent cries for help or my screams aloud. Only my grandma Laurel did. She was the reason I started doing the right thing, the reason I fought and tried to survive. Until she died. November 13th, 2017, around 1 p.m. It shattered me. I began to fall into everything I worked so hard to fix.

Fighting for Recovery

When I first arrived at HHYS (Hermitage House Youth Services), I thought it would make things worse. It actually didn’t. I got a new therapist along the way, someone who would listen and not ignore me. I got support, people who cared. I finally have a place I belong, Cambridge Springs. The people aren’t too bad. I’m getting help and working on moving forward from my past. I’m trying to build up my self-esteem. I’m realizing that the abuse wasn’t my fault. I can feel good about myself. I can become stronger and better. I changed for myself. I am doing that as of now. I’m fighting and surviving. I’m becoming who I am, not who people have conditioned and convinced me I was going to be.

Conclusion

Sometimes I have flashbacks, and everything feels useless. I feel like I can’t control my life or myself. But I have the strength to move forward. Yes, my self-esteem is a work in progress. It’s low, but it’s building and growing. I can do it. I can become who I really am. I control how I feel. I just have to fight on and keep moving forward.