Tu No Sirves Para Nada Analysis

"As long as you make an identity for yourself out of pain, you cannot be free of it." - Eckhart Tolle. I grew up in what seemed to be a normal, happy household. I was the only daughter in a family of five sons. My mother was a dutiful woman who you could always find at home either cooking or cleaning, she was always the first to meet us at the door as we rushed off the big yellow school bus excited to finally be home after a long hard day of addition and subtraction. My father slayed long hours under the scorching sun in order to provide for his five sons. It all looked great from the outside but being on the inside was pure terror.

I acquired many physical and emotional scars the fifteen years I lived there, I was always made to feel as if I was less than my siblings, as if my best was never enough. The phrase "tu no sirves para nada" was always being thrown at me piercing through my heart like a bullet; after a while even I began to believe it. When I left my house at fifteen I took my scars I took my bruises and carried them like a victims badge.

"My life is so fucked up thanks to my dad" was the subtext of everything I shared about my life. For sixteen years I recited my pity story to anyone I ever met hoping

to earn purple hearts for having lived through the worst childhood.

It wasn't untill one fall night when the air was just crisp enough to tell us summer was coming to an end yet warm enough to allow that warm, damp, smell of freshly cut grass to fill the air, and the moon brighter and bigger than ever lighting up the empty park where my best friend Jonathan and I were sitting on the swings.

I was (once again) reciting my tale of unfortunate events when suddenly Jonathan interrupted me and asked "Maria, how long are you going to play the victim of that story?" dumbfounded I quickly turned my gaze from the moon to him and hissed "you don't understand! That man ruined my childhood! I went through hell because of him!" He then calmly replied "I understand. I just want to know how long you're gonna tell that

story."

Fortunately, beneath my inital reaction I knew he was right. My story was holding me back from moving forward. From healing. I had built this sad core belief that my story made me friends, but in reality my defining myself only through my pain was actually pushing them away. By chosing not to forgive my father I remained stuck in that situation, unchanging, unmoving.

It wasn't untill then that I realized that I had to forgive my dad. By re-living my past every time I told my story I was tying a rope around my neck with the other end was tied around a tree. The rope symbolized the hate and resentment and the tree my father no matter how many times I asked the tree to apologize to free me the tree was not gonna move. No matter how many times I tried to walk away from my problems I was still tied to the tree only suffocating myself. It wasnt untill I stopped waiting for an apology and forgave him anyways that I let go of the resentment that I was able to cut the rope and finally be free.

Any time we hold resentment, we are only hurting ourself, while we outwardly blame a person or situation, inwardly we are only beating ourself up. Whether we are yelling at ourself for being part of that relationship or experience or only asking ourself why we didn't do things differently, we are still blaming ourself. We are giving ourself the message that we can not be trusted, chaining ourself to our past which prevents us from moving forward