Survivor

Every morning I catch a good look at myself in the bathroom mirror. It's positioned in such a way that I can see from the top of my head to my hips. I tend to stretch and my fingers reach the ceiling. Sometimes I notice how my body looks stretched out like that, but today I noticed something different. It was a flash of a moment, but I noticed my face. It didn't last long, but the thought I had was that I could see what others saw in me, my strength and beauty. I thought, for an instant, that was what a survivor looked like. After the moment was gone I couldn't get it back, but it was there.

How did I survive? How did I thrive? It all seems highly unlikely. At any point, I could have been killed by my mother because she lost control. I could have been taken in by the wrong people and ended up in dangerous, stuck situations. I could have decided the pain was too much and taken my own life before I had the chance to find true happiness. At times my thoughts will turn to bitterness that I'm still alive, but most of the time I'm grateful. I love my life now.

Still, how? How did I survive? I think about the individuals who came into my life and changed it in big ways and small: all of the teachers who paid special attention to me, the church members who helped me grow, Ahjashi and Emo, friends who came into and then out of my life at various times, internet friends, co-workers, my college roommates and friends, my husband, and the nerd friends I made in the last seven years. I don't know how much any of them truly knew about what I was going through or what I had survived. Hell, I'm seeing that I don't have a full picture of it either, and I lived it.

The more I think about the narrative of my life and story, the more I realize how flawed it likely is. For instance, I used to think that my mom never let me do much of anything typical kids would including sleep-overs, going to the mall or movies, or attend birthday parties. I've always thought this had to do with her being overprotective, that it was all about her conservative, Korean values and maybe there's some of that there but now I'm realizing that she only let loose the reins in this regard after she stopped physically abusing me. Seems likely that the real reason she kept me locked down so tight is because she didn't want to run the risk that I'd get close enough to someone and tell them what was going on, or they'd look too closely and figure it out on their own. God, that makes me so mad. So much of my childhood was stolen and I've lived these happy little lies about what was really going on. Now I'm left to glue the pieces of myself back together, simultaneously likely to flinch or tense at an intimate touch and starving for all of the love and affection and positive feedback I can get like an endless pit of need.

Anyway, all of that pain and anger aside, I've survived. I've thrived. I'm here, and God willing I'll stay. This is what a survivor looks like. It was unlikely I'd live to be almost 30 and as healthy as I am, but here I am.