Tell me why?

I don’t like Mondays?

I wanna shoot the whole day down…
Jon Bon Jovi and Sir Bob Geldof sing and I feel that deep grief.

Mondays have been the nightmare of my life.

Starting at the age of three – or even earlier (as soon you learnt to go to pot, and back then you would both because diapers weren’t available and your mom would be judged as a bad mother if her child wasn’t using pot latest it was a year old).

We, children, were given away by our parents (99% mothers) on Mondays for weeklong care.
A kindergarten (or calling it for what it was: an orphanage), where we had to stay until Friday afternoon to be driven back to our parents.

Every Monday morning I watched other children screaming and crying for their mothers and I thought how foolish they are.

They hadn’t yet realised that there was nothing to do about this.

I don’t remember when exactly I gave up crying.
Maybe when I was 4.
Or maybe earlier.
So, I wouldn’t cry since.
At least on the outside.

I was told crying was ugly, and nobody wants to be ugly when all you want is to be loved and cared for.
Nobody loves the ugly, this I understood early on.

But in my heart, I was crying and no one could see that.

Feeling confused and rejected, a burden and unlovable.
I believe so did feel all the other children too.

Evenings were the worst.
Lying in the dark in the large room, longing for my mom and dad.
In another corner somewhere was sleeping my 1 1/2 years younger little brother.

Then, later on, joined the three years younger sister and a cousin.
And when I left for school my other two youngest siblings.

NO, our parents weren’t nasty unhuman people.
They just did what the communistic system told them to do.

They didn’t have the information and knowledge available today about how 

damaging it is for children.
They were a generation born during or shortly after the World War 2.
They have had experienced plenty of horror, struggle, and hunger since their birth and they did what they thought was right.

Maybe it wasn’t all that bad.

And maybe it was better for many of us being there than home.
Almost every second of my mate’s fathers (inclusive mine), and for some also their mothers were alcoholic and violent.
So, perhaps we got spared some of the terror watching your dad beating your mother and in many cases yourself.
And we got food.

However, almost no matter how bad it is at home, every child wants to be with their parents.

My heart is still aching.
For my brother, my cousin and many others who didn’t know or couldn’t figure out how to deal with the pain of feeling unloved and unwanted.
They go through life like birds, whose wings are cut and they can’t fly.

Some of us have come better out of it.
Healing our wounds and aching hearts, and learning (self) love.

Maybe I was just lucky that my belief that there must be something better didn’t get crushed as bad as theirs?

If you hate Monday or any other morning(s) l want to tell you it’s possible to change that.

Just because you grew up unloved or beaten doesn’t mean you should carry on this brutality.

Because this is what most of us do.
When we didn’t get the love we needed we hate and blame ourselves for that.
As if it was your fault.

You may no longer notice the pain that is buried deeply and you don’t want to look in there.

It takes courage to look into your emotional wounds and give them the care they need to heal, but there really is no other way around if you like to grow your wings and fly as you were meant to.
Luckily – you don’t have to do it all on your own, there is so much help available.

You are lovable and you can learn love.

I have become expert of making my Monday mornings into sweet ones and wishing a wonderful one to you.