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Monica Buchanan grew up in Jamaica. She revisits her lived experiences of abuse and neglect in early childhood and her younger adult years. Buchanan takes the reader on a palatable path that allows for reflection on one's own life. She writes about her survival journey, while looking through descriptive lens, she carefully details how exposure to early childhood abuse and neglect within her family helped form patterns, influenced choices, and shaped decisions in her adulthood.By chronicling familial stories, the roles of parents, siblings, and community, she employs a story-telling and meaning-making approach, that is both painful and entertaining. Even though as a young child I was told I was the problem, I knew intuitively that I did not cause all my problems. I now know that what happened to me within the context of familial (and other) relationships had a name--emotional abuse and neglect.Growing up I wished there were more people and resources that could help me make sense of my life as I struggled with low self-esteem, insecurities, felt lost, craved attention, and an overall sense of not belonging--I felt like an outsider and desperately wanted to be on the inside.Buchanan reaffirms that: childhood experiences of abuse and neglect does not mean one has a commutable life sentence of pain and suffering. It does not matter where you are on your healing journey, you can set that stuff aside and reclaim your life. This book is for anyone who grew up in a toxic, abusive, and unhealthy home environment where they felt like they did not belong within the family unit. It is also a book about making changes, forgiveness, and letting go.
Read an Excerpt
My Mother Was Not Affectionate with Me
As a young child, I do not remember craving attention from my mother; somehow it is as if I knew intuitively not to expect anything. The dynamics between us were different and strange—a kind of old understanding which did not require words. I do not believe my mother hated me as a child, and I do not remember her as particularly unkind or mean towards me, but I do not believe she allowed herself to show love either. I believe that I represented an experience she wishes she never had. There was no need to say in words what we both knew.
Later in life, I began to make some sense of the feelings I had for my mother during my early childhood. It is as if I was the guardian of a Pandora’s box that I held carefully but dare not open. We both knew there was a key to this secret box hidden in plain sight, but neither of us reached for it. My mother would look at me in a strange way, and I would know to keep my distance. When I was little, sometimes I would catch her looking at me as if she wanted to say something or reach out and touch me, but she never did. There was extraordinarily little emotional connection between me and my mother. I did not know what I should have or what I was missing, but something felt wrong. I was quiet and stayed out of everyone’s way.
About the Author:
MONICA BUCHANAN has a PhD in psychology, as well as a master's degree and a bachelor's degree in Women's Studies. Buchanan is semi-retired, after a long and rewarding career in counseling, psychotherapy, and coaching, she now follows her passion and live a purposeful lifestyle. She continues to be enthusiastic and committed to development of strength-based community resources for adults and youths from marginalized and under-served communities, thus she remains an active volunteer. She focuses on mindfulness and relaxation and loves to read, write, garden, and take long meditative walks.
Website: https://www.monicabuchanan.com
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/dr_monicab
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/TheDrBuchanan
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