We are expected to grit our teeth and bear it all without complaints, while years of  pain churn, restlessly. Beneath our beautiful exterior. Behind the smiles. Beyond the pleasantries.

But what would happen if we finally felt safe enough to speak?

As Moe teaches us, we’d finally realize just how much is really going on beneath our calm demeanors as the pain from our past rages, hidden out of plain sight.

If my life were a movie, in the first few minutes, you would see me at the park, sitting on a bench. While I’m watching the lake, I would be in deep thought, reflecting on the past and the present. In my thoughts, you would see memories of me as a child wanting nothing more than to please my father.  You’d see a child who was exposed to sex in first grade , dealing with so many different emotions: confusion, embarrassment, hurt.

That boy is very close to his mother and would do any and everything for her. But she doesn’t realize that she’s hurting her son with the choices she’s making with men, who were never really consistent.  He wanted a father figure so badly, but they kept disappearing, and he was never able to maintain a healthy relationship with any of them all for different reasons . And when his mother did find a guy willing to stick around, instead of loving and accepting her son, he abused him for many years.

He called her son a faggot. He choked him. Kicked him. Spit on him. Slammed his head on the kitchen tile.  He was taunted to the point of wanting to commit suicide many times because of the pain. During the entire time, the boy wondered how his mom could stay with a guy like that. A guy that hurt him for so long.

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…memories of me as a child who wanted nothing more than to please  his father. That same child who was exposed to sex in first grade and confused, dealing with so many different emotions: confusion, embarrassment, hurt.

When he was older, you would see that young man relieved when his mother found the strength to leave that guy behind. But shortly afterward, he would be disappointed again when he pulled up to the house and had to carry his mother into house after realizing she’d been drugged by that same guy. Later, you’d see that young man driving  to work, trying to stop but  can’t because his brake lines had been cut. You would see a man who worried so much that he’d have to relive the horrors he once thought he’d finally escaped.

You’d then see that young man grow into a confused adult, and in some instances, repeating his mother’s same patterns when choosing romantic partners. But despite all of the pain, as a confused adult, he still manages to make other people smile and happy. However, when he isn’t making other people smile, he is  behind closed doors, not smiling. Not feeling happy.

After spending time in his thoughts, you would see me still at the park, sitting on that same bench, while I’m watching the lake. I’m in in deep thought, reflecting on the past and the present. I’m still in my thoughts, my memories as a child who craved the attention of his father. That same child who was exposed to sex in first grade and confused, dealing with so many different emotions: confusion, embarrassment, hurt. I’m still searching for answers, but I haven’t found them. And although I’d like to think I have it all together sometimes, I can easily be reminded that I’m still a work in progress.