23/04/2026
The story we learnt to tell ourselves......
Before I reached a point in life when self compassion and understanding allowed me to 'rewrite' my story, my sense of worth was built on the lack of anyone truly 'showing up' for me. I internalised the lack of care as proof that 'I' was lacking. Believing that love depends on being “good enough" left me as a child with the distorted belief that I was the reason love didn’t arrive.
As an adult, that self compassion, and a gentler understanding of the past, allowed me to release the idea that “it was because of me.” Letting go doesn’t erase what happened, but it frees the heart to grow beyond it, allowing a new story to take shape. A story rooted not in self‑doubt, but in truth, worthiness, and the quiet relief of finally feeling safe enough to let the weight fall away.
This is a poem from the perspective of that little girl on one of the many occasions I was taken out of school for 'contact'. Never sure if Dad would show, and if he did, would spending time with me outweight the constant pull of alcohol.
Because of me .........
I see my freckles and my frizzy curls
In the cold wet window pane.
I search along each winding path
As I watch through wind and rain.
I wonder if you're well today.
Or if your day was tough.
I wonder if you'll come for me.
And if I'm good enough.
With each loud resounding tick.
Followed tirelessly by its tock.
I remember the song you sang to me.
And the money tucked in my sock.
I try to think of the good times.
When you've wanted to be around.
Because in remembering the bad times.
No solace have I found.
So I stare through the rain drops.
And see the freckles looking back at me.
I know if you don’t come today.
It will be because of me.
N.Maillie