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.

SWEET EMOTIONS

Having reached this moment in my life, after several disappointments on the part of everyone and after long periods of reflection, I realized that now I need to be treated with unprecedented kindness. No more anxieties, doubts and insecurities. I just want genuine, kind and tender feelings. I am not willing to compromise on what I want and what I deserve. Committing to capturing at least a fragment of innocence in people and feeling tenderness for it is the only way to avoid retiring to private life as fast as a cockroach when you turn on the light.
There are moments in which I would like to go back to when I was little, moments that I miss and that unfortunately will never come back. I miss that innocence and that light-heartedness that I had, I looked at the world with different eyes, a beautiful world. I imagined already after the age of 20 with a job, a guy who cared about me and that only I existed as a woman for him. I imagined many beautiful things, but everything remains the fruit of my imagination alone. I miss it when I played dolls, when I watched cartoons on TV, the beautiful ones that passed Italy one. I miss living in my beautiful imaginary world.
We played hide and seek within the city walls. I was hiding, you were looking for me. I laughed, you laughed. We spent the whole afternoon even just playing one game, because I was hiding really well, and you didn’t even know where to start looking. In the end, you always managed to find me, somehow, and all you could say, finding my umpteenth hiding place, was: “Oh!” I laughed, you laughed. We spent the afternoons like this, together, without ever getting tired, meeting every afternoon at the same point, without even having agreed. We loved each other like that. We were really too young to know what love was, to be able to say we knew it, yet there was something between us: a thread, a red thread that united our hearts, a little girl’s apron ribbon, long, perhaps infinite, he would have been able to keep us tied even if we had been at the two opposite poles of the world. Subsequently, however, all that I managed to glimpse in our afternoons of play was your miserable shadow, nothing to do with you. And finally, what I thought to be your shadow also vanished, but perhaps it was just a figure of my invention, created not to admit that you had abandoned me. I was left alone. Without you, without your shadow. Yet, I continued to spend the afternoons playing, giving the landscape that surrounded me tiny and timid smiles, waiting for your return. Every now and then I stopped, playing, and looked towards the path that led to your house, waiting to see you arrive hopping, with the hat in your hands and the sly and proud look that had always distinguished you. But you never came back. And I, I continued to wait for you: I could not accept the idea that our red thread had somehow been severed.

GOING OUT

After about two months of forced distance, today I went back to walk in My Beloved park and it almost did not seem real to me that I could see with My eyes, My beloved trees and bushes that I have missed a lot, just like being in contact with Nature while I immerse myself in its colors and its unique smells that do so much good to My increasingly stressed and restless spirit. While I was walking rigorously accompanied by the pressing and unmistakable rhythm of My Beloved Music, the sun wide open on My face and the imagination at hand, I had almost the perception that everything suddenly stopped, as if these two months had never passed. actually existed, picking up where everything left off. The only difference is that this time I was wearing a mask, which contrary to what I expected, did not bother me particularly, as did the thousands of pollen scattered almost everywhere. They did not prevent me from fully enjoying that moment so long sought and uniquely Mine. Yet this time I began to let my mind pervade the various accumulated doubts and perplexities, to try to group them and let them escape. Now more than ever I feel the need to empty My Soul, like a trash can full of waste paper to throw away to make some space – and as I listened to the noise they made as they were thrown away, I began to feel a lot relieved, because they weighed on My imprisoned heart like a real boulder. The feeling of liberation I feel every time it happens cannot be described. I walk at a fairly high speed, I don’t want to exaggerate, I just want to walk, to enjoy that long-dreamed and desired peace, thus rediscovering the joy of doing something I love and that for a very long time I was not allowed to do, thus rediscovering it and loving it as if it were the first time. At a certain point on a bench I find a little girl sitting with the tool in her hand to be able to make soap bubbles, and immediately my childhood comes to mind when I also liked to do them. I am amazed that they still exist. Exactly like I did, you too love to blow into it to discover the effect it has. And just as it happened to Me, I was ecstatic to see on his face that veil of disappointment to discover that he had no possibility of command over them. The bubbles wander in the air without anyone being able to grasp them, and when they feel they have no air thrust, they go out by themselves. In short, they are without masters, completely free to fly and to choose as they want. So My life comes to mind and I think she is the same too, although she is Mia I feel I have no control over it, free to do and act as she sees fit, without ever deigning to ask me for an opinion at least. I can and must only accept what he proposes to do, thinking that whatever it is, he does it for My Good. For everything there is a why and I have understood that My Life intends to make me discover them little by little, without going around them so much, direct and straightforward as it has been from the beginning. However it is fantastic to be able to regain possession of My Normality, albeit with the right and due prudence. It was hard to leave when it was time to go home, maybe because I’m afraid I may have taken it off again, the very thought makes me tremble. I really hope it won’t happen, even if the imprudence of others does not give me hope! Better not think about it. Better to keep thinking about that soap bubble that wanders in search of its freedom, between memories and a lot of desire for redemption.

CHILDREN PSYCHOLOGICAL ABUSE

Children who are emotionally abused and neglected face similar and sometimes worse mental health problems as children who are physically or sexually abused, yet psychological abuse is rarely addressed in prevention programs or in treating victims, according to a new study published by the American Psychological Association.
“Given the prevalence of childhood psychological abuse and the severity of harm to young victims, it should be at the forefront of mental health and social service training,” said study lead author Joseph Spinazzola, PhD, of The Trauma Center at Justice Resource Institute, Brookline, Massachusetts. The article will appear in a special issue of the APA journal Psychological Trauma: Theory, Research, Practice, and Policy®

https://www.apa.org/news/press/releases/2014/10/psychological-abuse

WHAT A WOMAN WANTS

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I would like to see the waves of the sea again. I would like to be a child again and play with sand. I would like to believe I have a nice future. and my fathfather and my past. I lost all of my past. I feel empty. I can’t wish for anything but the sea and its strong smell and the smell of fried fish that my mother cooked and it was beautiful. and it was a simple and beautiful life. I would like that life again.er helping me make the sand castle. but all this is over. I didn’t lose a boyfriend. I’ve lost my life. I’ve lost my hope to go away from here.  I ask help to other women but feminist are ghosts now? Yes, feminist are ghosts.

A WRONG EDUCATION

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since childhood a child is educated
 so that she becomes a young lady 
and that she can have a husband and
 have children. a child is educated 
to endure so many unpleasant feelings. 
she is also educated to cook, clean,
 and do everything a man expects from her.
 no account is taken of what a child has 
inside her. but his childhood is violated 
with expectations that are necessarily 
linked to a life submissive to a man.
 this is accentuated if the child is abused. 
then it will become passive, submissive, 
docile and dead.
a child's upbringing focuses on the inner
 death of her being so that she cannot rebel
 against any man.
when I was a child my grandmothers 
wanted me to think already of a 
boyfriend, marriage and my future 
as a mother. they gave me dolls 
that looked like babies.
and they wanted me to learn to 
feed and dress them and treat them 
like real babies.
and for me all this was very strange. 
I wanted to play with children, 
I liked their Lego cars. 
but my mother scolded me.
forced me to wear clothes with 
little flowers. he wanted me to always 
have long hair. he wanted me to be good 
and kind. because this was the kind 
of woman men wanted.
but I didn't understand anything 
about couple relationships. 
I loved helicopters and planes.
but the tradition had to be inculcated 
in my head. and I rebelled and argued 
with my mother. as a girl I didn't want 
to wear makeup. my favorite colors were
 those for painting. but she was always 
angry with me and made me feel wrong.




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