For the first time since I moved away from home I placed old, black and white photos of different members of my family on display. Before last week I did not even have any photographs with me. I collected them in a one week unplanned visit. The simple action of displaying the photos is strongly connected to my feeling that I found my way back to them. Since a child I felt different and strange and not fully belonging there. Even close to several members of my family that feeling of an invisible wall separating me, was there.
I realized somehow last week that I always looked at my family through my father's alcohol addiction that was one of the main family topics dynamic. And that I did not see my father so much outside of his addition, and in a way neither the rest. Personality wise I took enough after my father to make me feel uncomfortable with myself and my legacy. I see now my father as a person, with good and bad like all the others. And in a way also my family as people, not only as my caregivers.
I am a part of a family tree of survivors that adapted to what life threw at them. Ambitious, dedicated and hardworking. Clan oriented, and little trusting others. Control driven and few generation addicts and co-adddicts. A family that I feel know grateful to be a part of. Because the wounded child me that looked for stability and security in an environment at points volatile, that placed all her safety in the hands of the person that seemed the most stable, is now protected and loved by me. And by them in the ways they could do it.