I Always Dread This Question

“What do you do?”
“I’m a housewife.”
“Oh, so you have kids?”

“Nope, I’m a housewife with no kids.”

I used to dread it when people asked me, “What do you do?”
Because I had nothing to show myself.

From 2014-2017, I did absolutely nothing.
Before then, I was a waitress.
In 2014, Rob started making a good living, and I didn’t have to waitress anymore.
So, I shopped and did DIY projects and that was pretty much it.

I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life.
And at that time, I didn’t even know if I wanted to live life.
I had a great life, but I was so depressed and unmotivated.
And the frustrating part was that I didn’t know why.

It wasn’t until this time last year that I realized depression was causing my lack of motivation.
And that my unwillingness to address my story was the cause of my depression.
I was trying to be happy in the present while the pain of the past was still haunting me, every night and everyday.

I didn’t want to live this way anymore, so I started writing.
My writing then turned into this blog.

And now that I have been blogging for an entire year (OMG, I know!),
I still find myself dreading the question, “What do you do?”

I actually dread it even more now.
Most of the time I say, “I’m a housewife,” and don’t even acknowledge that I have a blog.
Because I’m kind of embarrassed about my blog.

While others are blogging about pumpkin spice and everything nice, I’m writing about rape and hate.
But, I wouldn’t have it any other way because writing and sharing is helping me heal.
And I strongly believe there is healing in sharing.

I remember the comfort I felt the first time a friend opened up to me about being sexually abused.
While it wasn’t comforting to know that she had experienced pain and trauma, it was comforting to have someone to relate with.
So, if you struggle with self love and past hurt, I hope you also find some comfort in knowing you are not alone.

It’s not easy sharing and being vulnerable because I still have so much shame around my story.
The same shame I felt when I was first sexually abused by my Grandpa at age 5.
I never got rid of that shame.
And then when I was abused as a teenager that shame piled onto my previous shame.

Deep down, I know I have nothing to be ashamed about.
And it’s taken me a long time to realize this.
And even though I do realize it, I still feel the shame.

As I head into my second year of blogging, I hope to let go of the shame.
I’m going to work on owning my story.
And answering confidently when someone asks, “What do you do?”

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