As tears stream down my face, the voice of my father echoes in my head - 'I can't believe I raised such a weak human being' - and yes: that makes them stream even harder.
I have always been so ashamed of the way I react to situations of stress, discomfort, anxiety, injustice. And I don't mean to blame this entirely on my progenitors, but I would be lying if I said I have never been made to feel guilty for being vulnerable. The older I have gotten, the more I have realised that my parents are greater than anything I could have asked for. They mean the world to me, especially now that I am in the process of becoming a fully grown woman. I can trust them with anything. However, I still find myself in situations that tip the scale away from our strong bond and back to our old troubled relationship. And these are situations that always involve my highly susceptible character. My parents have absolutely never held my hand and told me that everything was going to be okay. I was never hugged and comforted in moments of grief. As a child, I would always seek their consolation: I would waddle to their bedroom, hoping they would pamper me this time, but I would always get the same response: 'stop crying over stupid things', 'you are so weak', 'the world will eat you alive'. So, naturally, when I hit my teens, I stopped trying to bond with them altogether. It took me the entirety of my adolescence to realise that their agressive, snap-out-of-it attitude came from a place of worry and from being raised in two strong Italian families where vulnerability was suppressed and deemed as weakness. In other words, they thought they were doing what was best for me. But they clearly missed the mark. Luckly, now I know that if I ever have children, I will never disregard their struggles. Also, one thing I really like about mum and dad is that they frequently go over their child-rearing phase and self-assess their parenting skills, and they have apologised for their mistakes, which turned out to be a very healthy thing to do.
Nowadays, although I enjoy a harmonious relationship with my parents, I still carry the trauma of being made to feel that I was too soft to handle the world. It is true: I just feel too much, I do not cope well enough, I make a big deal out of solvable problems, and I sympathise too deeply with both loved ones and complete strangers. I'm quite good at creating storms in teacups.
But I am tired of shame. As my tears dry, I come to realise that I have always found my way back to the light on my own. I have been able to hold my ground despite not having strong emotional defences. And actually, without my vulnerabilities, I would not have some of the aspects that I like the most about my personality: how deeply I love, how willing I am to understand the driving forces behind people's attitudes, or how compassionate I am. My softness is my shield, my tears are my weapon, and althought my branches shake violently in the wind, my roots and deep and strong.