Walking Down The Memory Lane: Reflection On My Childhood Memories That Still Hurt 🤔
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Walking down the memory lane is never a smooth,or easy path. Sometimes it feels like an unanticipated journey through old rooms I believe I had chained long time ago, rooms filled with shadows, echoes and rendition of myself I’m still learning to acknowledge. I’ve found myself revisiting pieces of my childhood recently, not deliberately, but as if life keeps grazing me to look back and finally understand the things I once tried so hard to take notice of. And in doing so, I’ve figure out something that some memories still hurt, no matter how much time has passed.
There are moments from my early years that feel like little fragments, tiny almost invisible but yet adept of pricking sharply when touched. Perhaps it was the loneliness back then which I don't have words for, or the expectations I carried on my shoulders silently. Perhaps it was the feeling of not being enough of trying to be
good child to keep the peace, or trying to grow up faster than I should have. Childhood is often glamorized as a carefree age, but for many of us, it held , fear, confusion and unspoken wounds.
As I look back, I can still feel the tightness in my chest from times I felt unheard or misunderstood. The silent moments when I cried behind closed doors in the room just because I didn’t want to place my hardship on anyone. The times I felt invisible, or worse, too visible in all the wrong ways. Even now, I often carry those emotions into adulthood stage without even realizing it. They show up in the way I sometimes apologize without reason, or in how hard I try to prove my worth and also in my doubts.
But walking through these memories, even as painful as they can be, has also given me sense of direction. I now realize how strong my younger version was, even when they didn’t feel strong at all. I acknowledge the resilience that grew out of those painful moments, moulding me into someone who feels deeply, listens carefully, and commiserate genuinely.
Reassessing my childhood is not about reopening those wounds just to feel them again but it's about recognizing the truth of what shaped me, about giving my younger self the acknowledge and compassion they never received. As I walk through the old memory lane, I’m learning to hold my past with carefulness instead of running away from those hurtful memories which I'm learning to commemorate them because they are part of me and my story, but it's just that they no longer define who I am presently becoming. And perhaps that's the genuine healing while finding peace not by disregarding the memories but by finally acknowledging.
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