Murderer

When I was three years old, my parents got me my first pet. It was a hamster. I named her Tootoose. 

Over the years, I had several hamsters as they don't have very long lifespans. I had Appetite, Sammy, and Barnie - who turned out to be a girl which I found out because she and Appetite had babies together .... which they ate ... Great way to learn the circle of life. But I digress. 

My first hamster was Tootoose. I liked to hold her. But I was also scared of her. I liked her little toes and the way they tickled my palms. 

One evening, I was holding Tootoose and she bit me. 

I was three. 

My immediate reaction was to squeeze her. 

Hard.  

I was three. 

I put her back in her cage. I was so angry. That might have been the last time that I allowed myself to express my anger. To even feel my anger. Because, within minutes of putting her back in the cage, she began to bleed from her mouth. I'm sure it was just a little bit of blood. But to my three year old brain it was gushing. 

I remember crying. I remember my Dad trying to comfort me. He wanted to hug me. To make me feel better. And I wouldn't let him. I was a murderer and didn't deserve to be hugged. 

I don't remember ever being hugged again after that day. My parents certainly don't hug me now. Which makes sense because I am a murderer. 

Recently, I told Nosy Nora this story and she asked where my parents were when this happened. They were in the kitchen and I was in the living room. I was often left to fend for myself. 

Nosy Nora asked if I realized that it was my parents fault that I killed my hamster. 

What what? 

She pointed out the obvious ... That a three year old shouldn't be left alone, unsupervised, with a small animal. I had never thought of that. Ever. 

If I think about a three year old, I would never allow them to handle an animal by themselves. Animals bite. And scratch. And run away. And die. And children haven't learned to control their physical reactions to upsetting or painful stimuli. 

Somehow I considered myself to be different. Somehow my own three year old self was responsible, independent, mature. 

It never once occurred to me in the last 35 years that it wasn't my fault that I killed my hamster. It was my parents fault. 

When I think back to that moment when I saw the hamster dying, I think about my heart breaking. I think about how I wanted to punish myself for my murder. Punish myself for hurting a living creature. Punish myself for my lack of self control. I deserved to be punished. I deserved consequences for my action. 

I continued to punish myself for 35 years. I promised myself I would never cause harm to living creatures again. 

By 7, I was calling myself a pacifist. By 12, I was adhering to the pagan belief of do as ye may yet harm none. And still I punished myself for what I believed to be a murder. I was trapped in my own framing of an event by a three year old brain. 

And then, after 35 years, Nosy Nora absolved me of my murderous ways by helping me to understand that it was my parents fault for not supervising me. 

So I have forgiven myself. 

And I deserve hugs. 

What have you been holding onto? What do you need to forgive yourself for? 

Be kind to yourself, 

xoxo

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