Happiness is a choice.
I know! I know! I can hear the protest from here!
You tell me ” I chose to be happy last night and this morning my life still sucks!” You tell me, “I can’t be happy because this terrible thing happened to me!”
I ask you to think hard. You are unhappy because you have “stinkin thinkin.” WE LEARNED TO DO THIS. It did nothing for our abusers to tell us what wonderful humans we are. It didn’t serve their purpose. I can tell you what I heard.
You don’t deserve to go to nice peoples houses. ~~~You don’t deserve new clothes.~~~You are selfish.~~~No one will believe you.~~You are inconsiderate.~~~You don’t think about anyone but yourself~~~You are too short, too fat, too dirty, too ugly too (fill in the blank with some negative)
Then I heard, If you tell, ~~~I will kill you~~~ Your mother will hate you~~~ Your brothers hate you already~~~
I also heard ~~~Why would anyone believe you~~~ No one will believe you~~~~ everyone knows kids lie~~~ All your friends will hate you and they will make fun of you~~~ You are not like other kids.
AND YOU KNOW WHAT? For years I believed all this. It made me unhappy. I never gave myself the credit or consideration that I would have given any stranger on the street who told me they lived with these thoughts. Is it the same for you? If you heard a story so similar to your own would you say to that person, “You don’t deserve happiness! No Peace for you!”
Of course not. That stinkin thinkin in your head… whose voice is it really? Listen… it isn’t yours.
Make the choice to be happy. You can’t start working toward that goal till you make the choice and the decision. You’re right. You won’t get up tomorrow instantly happy, but I believe that the determination to work in that direction will make you feel a lot better and you know what? One day you will wake up and be very happy. I worked very hard. I can tell you I once thought it was impossible.
I choose happy every day. So can you. XOXO Annie
We were kids. The unthinkable happened. Somehow we persevered, survived the early years that are supposed to be our childhood. Somehow, looking back we see old photographs of ourselves smiling, taking our good times where we found them as only a child can. We moved from moment to moment in survival mode, maybe you call it hyper alert, watchful, on guard. We knew nothing else. Whether it was violent or not, we watched. We avoided. We got snared in our perpetrators net anyway.