No I am not playing pirate, this is my patch.

Jun 22

When I say I wore a patch, hunny, I mean I wore that thing.

My aunt made me patches for every season. It was something fun in the house, but rarely did people outside my home and my immediate family know.

And if they did catch sight, they were confused…. “Are you playing pirate?”

“This is for after school and weekends,” is the message I received

I am not sure I ever wore it to school, but I do remember the first day back after graduating from patches to drops.

Ugh, these dreadful and dreaded drops that burned, and I would avoid at all costs (my poor mom).

Anyway, the first day back to school after receiving this terrible upgrade, my poor kindergarten teacher thought I was dying.

Unfortunately for her, no one gave her a heads up that I would be receiving drops that dilated my pupil in my “patch eye.”

I’m sure if I remembered more or understood more, it would feel worse, because as I look back with adult glasses on, I can imagine that must have been scary for me.

That, however, is not today’s point, so back on track.

Family Rules

There is no right or wrong way to create rules, and mine were normal to me, nevertheless.

As I often scratch the surface in my drifting thoughts, I ask: “Where are the pictures of me and my cute patches?”

I have now wondered that enough to begin to suspect something.

Just like the patches, those memories didn’t leave the house.

Those narratives, that version of me, the humor around it, the normalcy of it, it didn’t leave the house.

Like any family, we have things that are private, and in my family, most things were to be kept private. (the irony of me sharing this and all my other personal insights… not lost on me lol)

As you can guess, or have already figured out…

I
Internalized
That
Shit.

Privacy was not just for scandalous fall leaf patched secrets, but also for my thoughts, my feelings, and any action not expected of me.

I learned very early on what was allowed in and out of the house.

I am still learning just how deeply those rules solidified and how they still shape my narratives today.

And that conditioning runs deep enough that I already know the likely answer to my curiosity.

Shame.

My parents’ shame around my patch taught me lessons they probably didn’t mean to teach me.

I got the memo loud and clear.

Shame stays secret.

Since writing this, I have talked to my mom about this, and my therapist and I have gained new curiosity.

I will leave you with. How do we know what shame is, and how do we know what protection is?

Patched and proud,

Candice

P.S. Thank you for reading along with me as I heal in real time. I am so grateful for this practice and glad to share that though this story brings up sadness for younger me, I am also more connected to her today because I allowed myself ot face some things that have stayed in the dark.

I invite you to catch up with younger you in whatever way makes sense.

In addition to this reflection, I drew a younger me. I drew the picture I wish I had today. I hope you do so too.