If I Had Been Loved the Way I Needed as a Child

If I had been loved the way I needed as a child I wouldn’t feel wrong. It would have been made clear to me that there was nothing wrong with me. It would have been unquestionable.

If I had been loved the way I needed as a child the word “fear” would never have been connected to my parents. I wouldn’t have been worried about being disowned just for being who I was. I wouldn’t have been so scared to tell them. I wouldn’t feel a need to justify or defend their actions. I wouldn’t say things like “but they did love me. We have a good relationship now. My childhood was good.” 

If I had been loved the way I needed as a child I wouldn’t have a river of rage feeding the deep, poisonous root of doubt in my chest. I wouldn’t have the anger toward the world that I do because I would have felt loved and whole and enough. I wouldn’t be constantly searching for the source of that river, or a way to tear up that root. I wouldn’t consistently be asking questions that I know there is no answer to. I wouldn’t be trying to justify feeling broken, because I wouldn’t feel broken.

If I had been loved the way I needed as a child I wouldn’t feel the urge to suppress these thoughts, to keep them secret from my parents. I wouldn’t have these thoughts. I wouldn’t have to keep these feelings locked within my being, hiding them away from the people who loved me as they could. I wouldn’t know the pain of being loved in a way other than what I need. I wouldn’t know that unleashing these words would cause my parents the exact pain that I have felt, because it means that I don’t love them in the way they needed.

If I had been loved the way I needed as a child I would be able to allow myself to be loved as an adult. I wouldn’t attach conditions to compliments. I wouldn’t question flirtations. I wouldn’t resist attractions because I wouldn’t be scared of a love that hurts. I wouldn’t be constantly seeking a love I have never known, an unconditional love that makes me feel secure and grounded to the world.

If I had been loved the way I needed as a child I wouldn’t question it. I wouldn’t question much.

If I had been loved the way I needed as a child I wouldn’t see the flaw in the idea of being made stronger by the things that don’t kill you. I wouldn’t know just how much those things that don’t kill can hurt. I wouldn’t know that even though I was made stronger by my traumas, it was a strength born from breaking, like a bone mending itself. I would have a different kind of strength perhaps, one forged from the confident knowledge of feeling loved. The bones would remain strong because they were fed well and never broke.

If I had been loved the way I needed as a child I wouldn’t feel the need to compare. I wouldn’t need to say things like “other people have it worse.” I wouldn’t need to bathe in the comparative suffering of other people’s childhoods because I would feel whole in my own.

If I had been loved the way I needed as a child I would not have any hesitation about having children of my own. I would not question if I would be able to love them the way that they need.

If I had been loved the way I needed as a child I would be able to love myself. Fully. Completely. Unconditionally.

If I had been loved the way I needed as a child…