Saturday, June 25, 2016


The thing I regret the most... Well, there's several things.

Not standing my ground in seventh grade, when it had to be a unanimous decision. I was right and knew I was, but eventually gave in.

Not standing my ground when an adult (or two adults) and three peers crowded around me, one placing her arms on my shoulders and forcing me to the BB gun range set up, forcing me to do something I wasn't ready for. Go figure, I'm now scared of guns (yet anti-gun-control. Hm.)

Not telling the truth when the lies someone else told were believed, because it would take too much effort.

Saying no.

Saying no sooner.

That is where my biggest regrets lie.

In going to girl's camp for four years instead of two, in letting people convince me to do things I didn't want to do.

I don't regret refusing to learn how to whittle. I wasn't ready. Later, years later, I picked up a small multi-tool pocket knife that has my name on it. I love this knife. I was ready when I was sixteen, not when I was twelve. I wish I had been ready sooner, but I don't regret it.

I regret all the times I said "yes" the most, when all I wanted to say was "no". These things haunt me.
More than everything else.

Learn from my mistakes. Say no. Put your feet down.

At nineteen years old I am learning how to assert myself. Because asserting myself meant conflict, meant distress. If I went along with it it would still hurt, but less so.

Going to the gun range, willingly, terrified me. It hurt, it was scary, and I trusted the people around me.
I wanted to shoot a gun, I wanted to try it out, but it wasn't the noise; it was memories of a twelve year old kid being forced into doing something she didn't want to do, just once but once was enough.
(And, in part, by someone with fly-away shells, but I ducked behind an adult there with me and I was okay, away from the source, and the woman with the gun smiled and apologized even though the ear plugs made it so none of us could hear each other.)

It feels weird to say I was traumatized. I don't have PTSD, I don't have triggers or flashbacks. Many of my habits can be attributed to anxiety instead.
But I don't like guns.

I don't trust myself to be right. I defer, I step back, instead of fighting.

Dear God, I fought. I fought, once, and I was met with silence. In elementary school I was the good kid.
I got punished. I was the one who was talked to, every time I stood up for myself.

I don't regret standing up for myself.

I regret not doing it more.

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