The Meaning Behind the Name

Hi. I hope your day has been good to you.

I thought today I'd share with you the meaning of my name; Soul of Selene.

Ever since I was little, I've been fascinated by the moon. Whether I was spending the week living with my mom, or in another home entirely with my dad, the moon has been the one constant in my life. No matter where I was in the world, I always knew that when it turned dark I could look outside and see her lounging in the sky, watching over me.

I didn't have the best childhood. With my parents being divorced it complicated my home life a lot. They got divorced when I was around three years old. I don't remember a lot since I was so young, but I do remember feeling constantly out of place.

I had just started junior kindergarten and was starting to make friends at school. Up until this point all I had known was my mom, dad, and sister. It was an eye opening experience. Realizing that there was a whole world outside of the house I'd grown used to. Then one day, when I was playing with a new friend Samantha, my teacher Ms. Bailey came up to me and said she had something important to tell me. She took me out into the hallway outside my classroom and told me that this was going to be my last day here, and my mom was on her way to get me and my sister.

To say I was confused would be a severe understatement. I had no clue what was going on and couldn't remember if my mom told me about this before. After all, I was only three and didn't have the greatest memory capacity. Ms. Bailey rushed me to get my things and I had barely enough time to say bye to Sam. Then next thing I knew I was being whisked away to the front foyer where my mom stood with my sister. I remember my mom looking so sad, and looking back I know it was because she didn't want any of this to happen. She didn't want to disrupt our childhoods and break the bonds we had grown.

For my sister, it was even worse. She was in grade two at this point and had had lots of time to socialize and make friends with her classmates. We don't talk about this a lot, but I know that this was extremely hard for her.

The receptionist gave my sister and I stuffed tigers, mascots of the school that my little heart had bonded to. I ran up to my mom with tears in my eyes and expressed my discontent with the situation. She told me that this was how it had to be and we left the school for good, never to return.

-

What came next was many months and years of uprooting and resettling. I finally found out why we had to leave our school, it was because my parents were breaking up and selling our family home. This meant that we had to find another house, which ultimately meant changing school boards. I was angry with my mom for a long time, thinking that it was her choice to move and that she didn't care or notice how upset this made me.

I remember the process of selling the house, how my dad still lived there until it sold and having to visit it every other weekend. I was so confused as to why we weren't all living there. My mom, sister, and I had to live with my cousins for half a year until my mom was able to afford a place to live, since she had been a stay at home mom since my sister was born. They lived in a small attached townhouse, where we set up residence in their cramped basement. I had fun because I liked spending time with my cousins, even though I slept on a cot that tipped every time I moved even an inch.

At this time, my sister and I started attending a new school and it was difficult for me to make friends. I was very shy and closed off, hesitant to make connections because I felt like they would be ripped away from me just like before. Eventually I settled in and made friendships, but this shyness has stuck with me all the way to adulthood.

-

Whenever I had to go to my dad's house, either for the weekend, Tuesdays, or phone calls on Thursdays, I broke down into tears and refused to see him. I didn't know why I didn't want to see him, but I just didn't. I didn't feel safe with him. I didn't feel happy. However, I had no decision-making power over my circumstances. I had to see him no matter what I felt; it was court-ordered time that I couldn't refuse.

He was always miserable and often took it out on us. Thankfully it was only emotional trauma he inflicted on us, it could've been much worse, but that doesn't minimize the experience I had.

My refusal to see him only made him more angry. As soon as I finally mustered up the courage and willed back my tears, I left my life with my mother and took the long steps out to his car.

-

I could always tell when he was about to lose his cool. He would get this look on his face that scared every part of me and he would talk in barely concealed seething. He would ask me how I was, how school was, pretending to listen and care. Then just when I thought he was ignoring my reluctance to see him, he would not so calmly ask me why it looked like I had been crying. I always answered 'I don't know' or 'I wasn't crying', but that wasn't the right answer. He would then ask, "were you crying because your mother did something?". I would answer no straight away because of course not, why would that even be a question? It was him, it was almost always him. The final question was always, "did you not want to see me? Is that why you're crying?". I would answer 'I don't know' each time I was asked this. Why? Because I didn't know how to stand up for myself when I felt so undervalued and undermined. I was only allowed to answer yes or no to his questions, no maybe's or I don't know's. This made me think that my feelings weren't valid, that I had no right to feel the way I did.

Since there was only room for yes or no in his world, I didn't fit into that and it made me feel sick to my stomach. I didn't have the courage to tell him what I truly thought, because every time I had he literally laughed in my face and said I was being ridiculous and stupid. "You're not the brightest are you Lauren?". That was one of his favourites.

Now if someone said stuff like this to me, I'd be able to brush it off and keep going with my day. But at the time I hadn't built up any confidence or self-esteem. And it sure didn't help that he was doing everything in his power to shoot me down and make me feel small.

I couldn't express my emotions into words and this frustrated him to no end. But how could I when he had always taught me that my words didn't matter, my emotions didn't matter, I didn't matter to him.

-

Near the end of six months of living with my cousins, I was getting sick of fitting in with another family and not having my own space and usual rules that I had gotten used to. My mom finally found a nice house, but couldn't afford it on her own. This resulted in my grandparents, her parents, selling their cottage and moving into the house with us.

Although it was nice to be away from my cousins for a bit, there was really no reprieve. I was grateful for my grandparents helping us out when we needed it most, but as I grew up I felt like I had no space that was truly my own. It was always their rules we had to conform to and I had to live under their judgment for a little over seven years.

Between this and my dad constantly selling his place and moving to a new one, I lived my life feeling permanently unsettled. It felt like I was always on the edge of my seat, waiting for the other shoe to drop, ready to get used to another new space and new circumstance.

And I was tired. Oh so tired. I just wanted to feel the joyful happiness of childhood, much like those around me at school seemed to experience. I always wondered how they could just go out and socialize and play with each other without abandon, while I was in my head and self-conscious about every decision I made. I couldn't help but feel that I'd never fit in, that I'd never make real friends, that I could never truly be myself.

Because I didn't know who that was, and I'm still struggling to make that connection. It's hard to know yourself when you've been navigating a turbulent childhood, protecting yourself and minimizing yourself for the sake of not being hurt. I shrunk myself down and muted my personality so that there was nothing my father or anyone else could use against me. I felt like whenever I was myself, it would eventually be something that he would throw in my face because he had that power over me. And I never wanted him to have that power. Not more than he already had.

-

The one good thing about spending time with my dad was that in the summer, we went camping. Even though I had to spend a mandatory two weeks with him in the summertime, this made it somewhat more bearable. It was a time where I could relax and spend time in nature, which I enjoy a lot even today. We would cook food over the fire, waste away at the beach, go for long bike rides around the park.

It was almost blissful.

Except most of the time he wasn't able to curb his overbearing personality, and many times we had to go camping with his girlfriend-of-the-month. Sometimes these women came with kids that we were forced to spend time with. This made me anxious because I knew I'd get a talking to if I didn't interact with them in the picturesque way he portrayed himself, and us, to these girlfriends. He laid it on thick with them, starting out by taking them to the beach, making them blueberry cheesecake, and overall acting in exactly the way he could never be. He set up a firm facade of the perfect boyfriend, making them feel like he was perfect and just a great guy. But this was never sustainable. Eventually he would get tired of pretending to be this happy person and slowly morph back into reality. They would see that he was a manipulative narcissist with truly no care for anything beyond himself. It was sad for me to see because I knew that he could be sincerely happy in his life and with himself if he faced his trauma instead of hiding behind it.

There was one night when we were camping that we were both sitting around the fire. It was a beautiful night and my sister had gone to take a shower. He started asking me about my life and for once it seemed genuine. I thought that just this once I would be vulnerable with him and actually give him details of my life beyond one word answers. I was shocked when he actively listened and responded to what I was saying. It was the first time that I felt we could have a good relationship and it made me hopeful for the future.

To surprise me even further, he started talking to me about his life growing up and his bad relationship with his father. His dad was very strict and demanding of him, his parents forcing him out of the house at 16 to figure things out for himself. I felt sympathy for him, sad that he went through that experience at the hands of the people that are supposed to support you as a kid. After we had both finished sharing, we sat in comfortable silence for a bit, reflecting over the fire and lost in our own thoughts.

But this peace didn't last for long.

My sister came back from her shower and my dad went to the washroom. I didn't tell my sister that we had a good talk because I felt like verbalizing it would somehow make it seem more like a fairytale and less like reality.

When we saw my dad walking back to the campsite, I decided that I would run up to him. I just felt so happy that we were finally connecting and was overcome with the urge to interact with him in the way I would imagine normal kids do.

So that was what I did; I ran up to him with a huge smile on my face and my arms stretched out wide. I was suddenly picked up with my arms squeezed tightly at my sides. The wind knocked out of my chest as I was forcefully slammed down into my folding chair. He pinned me there and looked at me with such contempt on his face, half shadowed by the flames of the fire.

And then he told me, "Never do that again Lauren you hear me? That was extremely dangerous, you should never run at people like that. Are you daft or what?". Any hope I had gained earlier fled as quickly as it came. I felt so stupid for believing that anything could change. I started crying from the shock of being man-handled and also from my bleeding emotions. This only furthered his frustration and he asked, "Now why are you crying, it's not like I hurt you. Come on stop crying, you're fine, I barely even touched you," with a manic smile on his face.

This devolved into a panic attack, many of which I'd had before at this point, and left to the washroom to calm myself down and stop crying. To my embarrassment, it seemed like everyone was there getting ready for bed. With my puffy, red eyes and runny nose, they all stared at me when I came in. I ran straight for the stalls and put my head between my knees. I started thinking to myself, none of those people out there are miserable right now, so why am I? I'm sure they're having a great time camping with their families and here I am feeling sorry for myself when I should just suck it up and move on. I've grown enough to realize that this was my father's voice in my head. He had become part of my inner monologue, highlighting my insecurities and calling them bullshit. Even in my own mind I wasn't safe from him.

From then on out, I retracted even further into myself, especially around my dad. I was cautious and learned how to hide my emotions so well that I no longer cared for the things that happened around me. I was living my life entirely numb, with no plans to ever thaw from that state.

That same week we went camping, or maybe it was another year I can't quite remember. We were down at the beach at night watching the tide roll in beneath the moonlight and stars. I walked away on my own and just stared up at the night sky. I remember feeling blanketed in comfort, basking in the moon's glorious glow, feeling the tension drain from my body and recalibrating myself in peace. I told myself that if I ever felt unease or discomfort, the moon would be there to guide and re-center me. It reminded me to take a breath and let restfulness soothe me.

-

Later on, when my mom could afford a place on her own, I was a teenager filled with persistent anxiety and depression. We lived in a cozy townhouse in a nice neighbourhood, yet I was still hesitant to settle in. Everything else in my life told me that this too was fleeting, that I couldn't allow myself to rest. I saw my dad less now, since I was old enough to choose if I wanted to see him, and I didn't. His side of the family berated me for this, thinking that I was being cruel when they didn't know my side of the story. He filled their heads with hateful things about me, which made me even less inclined to spend time with him.

I had started high school which was another experience of trying to fit in somewhere I didn't feel like I belonged. Restless nights were more often than not and I used harmful ways to distract myself from my life in these midnight hours.

At nighttime there wasn't much I could do to prevent myself from mulling over all my past and current trauma. It ran a loop of itself in my mind and never seemed to turn off. It was constant agony and I begged for an escape. I found myself walking out of my room and downstairs to the living room, pacing around then looking out the big window. I would look out into our quaint backyard and the looming trees and shrubs. Then I would look up at the sky, seeing the moon and stars wink back at me. I particularly enjoyed this in the winter. The moonlight made the snow sparkle and come to life in a cool blue hue. It was magical.

There was one night out of many that I remember, when I couldn't sleep and was looking out the window beside my bed. Once again staring up at the moon and feeling the tranquil energy seeping into my body. At this point I had started talking to the moon, when the thoughts in my head became too much and I shared them with the one constant I knew would listen. After a long night of conversation, the name Selene just slipped out and it fit her perfectly. She made me feel calm and serene, a break from my usual turmoil, disappointment, and dissatisfaction. Ever since then that's what I've called her. My emotional support when there was no one else in my life to provide it for me. She gave me clarity and moments of reflection. She subdued my angry heart and restless soul.

Now that I'm writing all of this out I've realized that Selene gave me more than I ever could have imagined. She gave me a space where I could be honest and connect with myself. Giving myself the idea that I was sharing this with someone else helped me to finally verbalize every terrible thing that I had encountered. It allowed me to recognize the truths of my past and present and stop running from them.

She empowered me to start healing and opening up to not only myself, but those around me. I gained insight and even if I didn't understand it at the time, started the journey that I'm on today.

It takes a lot to be vulnerable with yourself, even more so when you've been repressing exposure at every turn. I am so thankful that she's been there for me when I felt no one else was. She is everything to me. She is my eyes, she is my heart.

Selene is my soul.