Once upon a time I believed my family was normal. Once upon a time I thought my sadness was just a chemical imbalance in my brain. Turns out, I knew the truth deep down all along. When I came out of the closet of unworthiness, I was rejected.

The love I knew was held up by guilt and obligation. The love I knew was as fragile as a decaying leaf. The love I knew would crumble if you tried to hold it in your hands, little pieces of it slipping out from between your fingers. Turns out the love I knew wasn’t love.

Over the past few years I’ve met real genuine love. Love is kind. Love is strong. Real love is a rock, a firmly rooted tree that merely sways in a violent breeze. It is not fearful. It is not covered in a layer of guilt. It is free. It demands growth but caresses you with its light.

I did not know real love in my family of origin. We said “I love you” every night. But it was a routine, a check in the list that came right after brushing our teeth. There was no real love in our house. Sad feelings were not embraced. They were mocked for being too dramatic or ridiculed for being selfish. There was no emotional connectedness. There was a hollow empty feeling. It was this that my heart knew long before my mind was aware of it. And it was that knowledge that hung over me like a wet cloud, blocking out the sunlight from my life for so many years.

Until one day I saw. Until one day the masks slipped off. Until one day I saw those smiling photographs for what they really were – a polished lie to trick the observer. Framed illusions to make even those who were in the picture doubt the pain in their hearts.

I see it all now. The twisted vines of “love” that grew invasively through my memories. The weeds that made their way into every crack of my family. Wrapping themselves around the frames, climbing around our living room and stifling the light. Slowly and sneakily they crept. The daylight slowly being taken over by darkness. I saw it and I got out.

I pulled their twisted tentacles out of my throat and from within my heart. I grabbed their poisonous thorns and yanked. I screamed them out and back into the universe. And when I turned back, my hand outstretched to help my family pull their vines from within, they slapped it away.

And so I walk away. Not because I don’t love. But because I do. If I go back as they are now that vine will wrap itself back around my wrists and bind them once again. And that can’t happen. If my wrists are tied I cannot  hold my children.  I can’t show them the light that exists beyond that darkness. I can’t make sure that those poisonous vines don’t wrap around them.

No, they will never know that darkness. They will never know the pain of realizing the “love” you were taught was just a mask of fear. They will never be swallowed by those vines. I won’t allow it. I can’t. They are born free.