Failure to Thrive

The impact that childhood sexual assault has on a young, growing child is catastrophic and immeasurable. I can attest to that. But with proper therapy, support and love there is hope that healing can occur. Thankfully, I can attest to that as well!

Failure to Thrive

How does a tree grow on crumbling ground?

It can’t. It won’t.

It will fall.

It will crash.

It might grow for a bit, burst forth branches and twigs.

Maybe even boast a couple of vibrant leaves. 

It could even seem strong, seamless. 

Able to withstand tough winds and pounding rain. 

But the underlying foundation is unreliable and insecure.

Underneath, its roots are dying: rotting from lack of sustenance, 

Decaying due to unnatural exposure. 

Inside, it has cavities, perforations, cracks. 

Missing parts, causing it to be unstable, unsteady. 

Despite its appearance, the tree is living on borrowed time.

One day, it will collapse.

I grew up on unsteady earth. 

A crumbling foundation.

Parts of it were secure:

Built of love, connection, support, encouragement.

But there were the other parts too.

Insidious, hidden parts. 

Built on insecurities, sadness, self-hatred.

Doubt.

Confusion.

Trauma.

But no one knew.

Outside I looked pristine, flawless, strong.

Happy.

Thriving.

If anyone had looked closer, they would have seen the truth:

I was slowly disintegrating from the inside out.

Each time I tried to build myself up, 

Create a worthy being of myself, I sank. 

Or I crumbled.

I never had a chance. 

So what to do to make myself worthy? 

How to find the strength to build something real? 

I have to recreate my own foundation.

Start from the bottom, work my way up. 

And grow from there. 

What do I want my foundation to be built on?

Connection, safety, love. 

Intimacy. 

The ability to see and be seen. 

The ability to be understood.

Empathy. 

Joy.

Laughter.

Acceptance.

The opportunity to speak my truth.

The knowledge that I matter.

That I exist.

But I can’t try to grab it all at once. 

I need to start slowly, at the beginning.

At my foundation.

Strengthen it.

Fortify it.

I won’t be a redwood, towering and imposing, 

I may not even be a small oak.

But if connect myself to the earth’s very core,

By dancing barefoot on its rich soil

And firmly plant my toes in its fertile, unmoving ground,

I may have a chance of becoming a sturdy sapling,

I might just have the chance to thrive.