I still like peanut butter

TRIGGER WARNING

In a podcast interview by 2 Khmerican sisters in March 2021, I was asked what it was like growing up.

I thought about this and a vivid memory came back. I was 13 or 14 and eating breakfast at home with my stepfather and brother.

Breakfast was the same each day. My brother and I had to make multi grain toast, put it in the brown bread basket with the blue towel to keep the bread warm and eat two slices each.

I seriously hated eating breakfast. No child enjoys being forced to eat multi grain bread. I wished that I could eat that fluffy, delicious and soft white bread instead. I ate the first slice with strawberry jam, slowly and begrudgingly. By the time I’d gotten to the second slice, it was cold, chewy and gross. With peanut butter on top.

That morning, my stepfather must have left early for work. A rare occasion. As soon as he left, my brother and I breathed a sigh of relief and threw our leftover toast in the bin. And off to school we went.

But my stepfather must have come home early from work that day. Another rare occasion. I walked in. And in a second, I felt my stomach drop and reality hit me in the face.

There on the dining table was a plate, with two pieces of peanut butter toast. From the rubbish bin. My stepfather must have found them when he went to throw something else in.

Have you ever had that feeling where you want to run away or do something, but you know you can’t? That to fight, cry, scream, reason or say anything is useless? That was me. And that’s how I felt. I knew that if I did or said anything that I’d be in even bigger trouble and I wasn’t willing to gamble on just how much worse it would be.

So I resigned myself to the fact that my brother and I would be eating peanut butter toast for dinner. Toast that had spent the past 12 hours or more in the bin, along with who knows what else.

Suddenly, my stepfather left the kitchen. He must have gone to the bathroom or taken a call. My brother acted quickly. He toasted two fresh pieces of bread and we hastily put peanut butter on them.

We ate these instead and threw the old ones out - more carefully this time.

Looking back, I know exactly what would have happened if it weren’t for that “miracle” distraction, my brother and his quick thinking.

*****

So what was it like growing up?

My childhood is a mixture of memories like these and an overwhelming sense of apprehension. It’s the kind of environment that I became used to, the only one that I knew and it forced me to grow up fast.

I just “dealt with it” and I hardly spoke about it. If I did, it was only to very close friends. As a result of what I’d gone through, my maturity developed so much, that I saw people and situations differently.

My sense of fear and worry changed. I kind of stopped being scared. I mean truly scared. I stopped worrying about small things. I stopped being shocked when I heard difficult news.

I wouldn’t wish my childhood on anyone, but I do recognise how it shaped the way that I am. And how I can show up today as a Transformation Coach. Business Consultant. And Soul Healer. Despite my childhood, it was important to me that I maintain gratitude, laughter, positivity and kindness.

And this is how I was able to show up professionally and be that “smiling assassin”. But anyone who knows me well, knows that I am far from any kind of assassin. I have kept my head and my heart open.

Open to others. Open to multi grain toast. And open to peanut butter.