IF I WAS A CHILD

I wish I could hug all those little girls who grow up with the idea of ​​being wrong, who start hating their body.
I wish I could tell them that I know that story well and that they are not alone.
I would like to be able to embrace every single creature who, looking in the mirror,
repeats “I am wrong. I am too fat for this world”.
I wish I could hug the child Queen to tell her that it is not her fault,
that the world is full of things of so many things that she has not been able to see.
He was afraid that only evil existed.
Everything was easier as children, when the words didn’t hurt and the hugs were sincere. When the greatest pain was a skinned knee and the only difficulty was tying the knot in your shoes. Everything was more beautiful as children, when to touch the sky it was enough to go on the swing and a storybook made us dream. When a lollipop was enough to let the sadness pass and a light on to scare the monsters under the bed. When the world seemed perfect and we were in a hurry to grow. Now the world is scarier and sometimes I would like to go back to being a child
“What happened?” “That lollipops have become cigarettes, water vodka, bicycles, mopeds, sex kisses. Do you remember when flying meant swinging fast? When did “protection” mean using a helmet for cycling? When the worst you could get from a person was head lice? When did we only love our parents? Dad’s shoulders were the highest place in the world and Mom was a heroine. Your worst enemy was your brother, speed problems were caused by running too fast. “War” was just a game and the only drug we knew was cough syrup. The strongest pain you could feel was in your skinned knee and “goodbye” just meant “until tomorrow”. All this was the best thing in the world, but we couldn’t wait to grow up… “
A hug to the little girl I was, shy and insecure. To that delicate and sensitive child who cried, suffered, felt alone. A hug to the woman I have become, stubborn and imperfect but always sincere, a warrior with a heart that is always too open. To the woman who is trying to forgive herself and who never stops dreaming. For the woman that I am, for all the love I have inside, for my victories and my defeats, for all the times I’ve stood up, for all the monsters I’ve faced. A hug to the little girl I still am and will always be, with fairy tales in my heart and a thousand dreams in my eyes.

HELP FOR BROKEN FAMILIES

The dysfunctional family is a family in which conflicts, deviant behavior and abuse predominate. Each of these families lives in fear and the weakest members are constantly subjected to physical and psychological violence.

In these family models, authority is replaced by a distorted idea of ​​authority that is exercised through manifestations of anger, the need for control and aggression.
We remember how families and couples, as well as every single individual on earth, by nature and evolutionary processes face what we call a "period of crisis". Carl Whitaker, pioneer of systemic family therapy, identifies various crises within the couple. One of these occurs when the two partners realize that the other will never become what they wanted to become and that they will never be able to completely change it. To this crisis are added others, such as those marked by specific events, such as the birth / growth / education of children, bereavement, serious illness. And it is enough to observe the period in which we live to realize the drama in which all these aspects can convey
To date, the first test we had to overcome was to completely change our habits: the transition from hectic daily activities to immobility, stopped and blocked in confined spaces, for days and days, was not easy. And the awareness that today this will not end as soon as we all hope can make it even less bearable. So we have to deal, within those domestic walls, with the management of what have become only long and interminable days to fill. Everything that relieves us from coming into contact with us, our emotions, reflections on our own self, is now outside (friends, sports, holidays and travel, .. et al.). And the isolation in which we find ourselves, full of continuous disastrous news on the progress of the pandemic, can only be a further sharpener of emotions such as fears, anxieties and depressions.
It can be useful to start the day taking care of us, of our person, of our spaces especially if shared with 2 or 3 people of the family unit, and even more if we consider the units in which there are also grandparents or uncles and if the spaces they are reduced;
You can discover a new way of preparing yourself towards yourself and the new time available, dedicating yourself to activities for which we did not have time before (cooking, gardening, bricolage, et.al.). All this can be an opportunity compared to a new way of placing oneself within the family space and discovering a new relational dimension;
With children it can be useful, bearing in mind the differences for age groups, to maintain a daily routine as much as possible, to be recreated totally new as we have tried to do with ourselves: the day can be spent alternating playful moments with recreational moments , to play spaces and free exploration, to moments of sharing with the family.

INNOCENCE

All adults continue to carry their inner child inside. The body changes, needs change, experiences change thoughts and habits. But the wounds suffered remain and always remain open inside our little child. They come knocking again almost desperate, through the memory. They do not heal and scratch on the times when our baby inside did not feel appreciated enough, did not have the strength to be seduced by his individuality and subsequently never felt so safe as to abandon his initial innocence on the street. Within every family there are secrets, past anecdotes often steeped in shame. Within every family there is someone who feels guilty even for what he did not commit and at the same time dumps on others what he is solely responsible for. Although everyone feels so unique and different from everyone, every family interaction has a common denominator that repeats itself, like the script of the same film, translated into all languages ​​throughout the history of the world. In every family there is a well-defined decalogue: This should not be said; this is not to be done; this is not good … Yet to grow it is necessary to accept one’s own subversive universe. To grow, it is necessary to give up innocence. Giving up innocence means accepting what we reject about ourselves, even when it goes against the grain of what we have been taught. Giving up innocence does not make us guilty. It teaches us to understand that it is what we hide that destroys us while what we accept makes us peaceful and changes us for the better. Conflicts are spider webs, either you break them or they weaken you more and more until you are imprisoned, to the point of stifling forever even the last breath of courage you have inside. The paradox of any improvement is that in order to improve you must first accept your limits and love yourself as you are. To be able to do this it is necessary to recognize yourself and then break, break everything that you have built in your life to defend yourself, the shield around your heart.

ARTHUR’S ISLAND BY ELSA MORANTE

A wonderful classic that teaches and talks about a life in solitude. An Arturo protagonist in his narrating self, an Arturo who becomes a star among his animals and a star will also become a star for the reader who will not easily forget him. Arturo orphan of his mother, grows up with an absent and practically misogynistic father. Arturo tries to grow and while he tells the story his maturity reaches the reader, because even when he is a child, the young man already has to do it himself when he is a child. Elsa Morante, immense and poetic, calls him several times a forastic Arturo and it is precisely the idea and flavor that this reading emanates. The human essence made clear and wild before the blessed reader. Genuine, atavistic, sincere. Arturo is loved, but so is Nunzia, also Salvatore and even Wilhelm and all the protagonists; everyone has a role, everyone is part of the Moor, as is his Oriental Tent. The island of Arturo was awarded the Strega Prize in '57 with its story that leads the reader to a job in search of himself, following in the footsteps of Arturo in his difficult oedipal overcoming of his father. Immense and stellar. A masterpiece that leaves its mark.

STORY OF A DAD AND HIS SON

Son: "Dad, can I ask you a question?"
Dad: "Sure, what's it about?"
Son: "Dad, how much money do you make in an hour?"
Dad: “None of your business. Why are you asking me such a question? "
Son: “I just wanted to know. Please tell me, how much money do you make in an hour? "
Dad: "If you really want to know, I earn 30 € in an hour"
Son: “Oh! (with head down)
Son: "Dad, would you lend me 15 €?"
The father was furious.
Dad: “The only reason you asked me was to borrow some money to buy a stupid toy or some other nonsense, now you go straight to your room and go to bed.
Think about why you are becoming so selfish. I work hard every day and then get this childlike attitude of yours.

The little boy went quietly to his room and closed the door.
The man sat down and became even more angry thinking about the boy's question. How did he dare to ask me such a question just to get some money?
After an hour or so, the man calmed down and began to think:
Maybe there was something he really needed to buy with € 15, he doesn't ask for money very often.
The man went into the little boy's room and opened the door.

Dad: "Are you sleeping, son?"
Son: “No dad, I'm awake”.
Dad: “I was thinking, maybe I was too hard on you before. It was a hard day for me today and I unloaded on you. These are the € 15 you asked for ”.

The little boy sat down immediately and began to smile.
Son: "Oh, thank you dad!"
Then, from under his pillow, he pulled out some crumpled bills. The man saw that the child already had money, and began to get angry again. The little boy slowly started counting his money, and then looked at his father.

Dad: "Why do you want more money if you already have some"?
Son: “Because I didn't have enough, but now yes”.
“Dad, I have 30 € now. Can I buy an hour of your time? Please come back early tomorrow. I'd like to have dinner with you. "

STORY OF A DEAF CHILD

I called it that, with that mixture of lack of delicacy and naivety typical of age. In reality he was also mute, the child in question. And maybe he wasn't even that child, in the sense that he was a couple of years older than me. I was, however, a child. And there was nothing nicer for me than spending time with my dad. I followed him to the bar in the evening, at work, when he went to his customers (he had his own company), when he stopped for coffee with friends, when he made deliveries with the van. In short, everywhere, our relationship was special and I a little maliciously enjoyed that exclusive relationship that cut off my sister and my mother, my father was only mine, period. And he gladly took me with him wherever he went. Even at the home of this deaf child. I spent time with him playing as best I could, I didn't like his company so much because I didn't know how to relate to someone who had that kind of disability. As I remember, he also found me likable, sometimes he got angry when I couldn't understand what he wanted and I proceeded by trial and error, making mistakes until finally I got the right option. I dare say we got along well even though we weren't really friends. I remember in a few frames the way to get to him, which we did for just one summer. I remember that the countryside around was yellow and warm on those sunny afternoons. What became of him, then? How did the "deaf child" experience that period? Do you still remember me, that playmate who occasionally pissed him off because he didn't understand what he tried in vain to say? Maybe. But the question that I have been asking myself for years to tell the truth is another: why? Why did we go to his house? Why have I only ever seen the mother of that child and never the father? Why did my daddy take me with him and then leave me there to play with someone who he called my friend but who in effect was not? Why didn't we ever go there with mom? They weren't family friends, why did we end up there from time to time? I don't know, I can't know, my father has been dead for a quarter of a century and of that summer I am left with only this memory and the echo of all those because they are destined to be orphaned of an answer. (Maybe) unwitting witness of something I didn't understand or knew, sometimes I think about it, sometimes with rancor and sometimes with disdain, I tell myself that no one is perfect, not even my father was. But how much I wish he were still in the world to ask him something ... Two things I hate in life: waiting and not knowing.

I DIED ONCE

I wandered through a fantasy forest.
Blue branches, yellow barks, purple grasses, star gourds.
My one second dream.
Those who keep their hats even at night.
The thieves of gods.
Tears without taste.
Drinking.
I don’t protect myself with the sacred.
My mantle is made of mountains, bright rocks, forests that I don’t know.
Human journeys first were made by dogs.
Flora is like a colored texture around the inky black of my path.
I was a happy child and I was making bouquets of flowers.
Now I collect stones to consolidate my torn chest.
I died once where I haven’t walked yet.
I was taken without my permission.
Collected by an ogre they didn’t warn me about.
It wasn’t his garden, and I hadn’t crossed over.
Maybe my being a doll brought him closer.
Perhaps beauty sometimes brings death.

HEART IN DARKNESS

Conrad. The good heart of Tenebra. How I loved Lord Jim !!! It was a happy time in my life. The only one. So, I can tell you that many words are beautiful but then it’s not that easy to find happiness. Especially if at 4 you found yourself a man who pushed one knee to your chest to rape you. Continued abuse for years has devastating consequences for a child. I have not eaten since 4 years. I ended up with injections and infusions. I no longer opened my mouth. Nobody understood what had happened to me. Then I unlocked thanks to my paternal grandmother and a hen, who became fond of me and made me understand that not all beings on this earth do harm. So as you can see I’m still alive and I owe this to the art that saved me by allowing me to express the immense anger and pain I had inside of me. I survived but at what price? I would have preferred that he had killed me because carrying death within him is even worse, you know. You often feel desperate. You fall into bad hands again. You get up and fall back and suffer. Until one day your father dies and you look in the mirror and suddenly you see your evil twin living violently. And so you become the executioner. But that doesn’t make you feel good either. Neither love nor pain can defeat the death that man made you suck. And what do you do? Therapy is done. You try everything but nothing is needed. There’s always that monster growling inside me. And I scream but nobody hears me. Nobody saved me that day.

TAROTS

There was a time when I used tarot cards but strange things happened in the house where I lived. I saw people who had died. A woman dressed in black crying in the armchair in front of my bed. I could hear the laughter of a child. Then even bad things happened to me. Then one day I saw something silver and they were angels and they entered me and caressed my internal organs. And I felt a lot of well-being. Now I don’t have much positive energy anymore but I still have my tarot cards. In this house where I live now there are many presences and therefore I never wanted to awaken them. A friend of mine told me that I would be a good medium but I don’t know how to become one.

I WAS AN ABUSED CHILD

I have been abused since I was only 4 years old and I still don’t know if it was someone from my family (uncle, cousin, grandfather, or friend of the family) and therefore my happiness was taken away from me so quickly that all theories and ideas of world are not enough to bring my soul back to life. I also went through years of therapy, but you will understand that undergoing such bad things as a child destroyed my inner world. I saved myself, thanks to my imagination and creativity. I have never had help from anyone and even if I always do good in return I always receive evil. I don’t believe in happiness. It is a harmful and illusory world. 

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