Every since I can remember, my hands got cold. It didn't matter if I had layers of clothes on and warm gloves, my hands were cold. It didn't matter if I had the warmest mittens on, they got cold. It could be 70 degrees in a room and my hands would be cold.
As far back as I can remember, I would get kicked, hit, and ridiculed, because my hands would get cold. I couldn't help it. They just did.
Time and time again, I was told to shut up and grow up. I was told not to cry. Big boys don't cry is what I was told. I was so traumatized by it, that it still haunts me today.
You would have thought allowing me to have 5 minutes to go inside and warm up would not have been asking for too much. Apparently, it was.
Imagine your hands hurting from being cold or being so stiff they didn't want to move. Imagine someone telling you that you were a cry baby or just complaining and whining. Imagine being threatened with physical punishment and seeing that threat followed through.
Being traumatized by cold hands is not fun. I do not enjoy the colder weather at all and for those that do, more power to you. However, I didn't like to be made fun of and bullied by my father because my hands were naturally cold.
For me, I prefer the warmer weather. Cold weather isn't my desire anymore and most of the time, it makes me want to hide and withdraw. Most don't fully understand this, but it can be a very traumatizing moment for me.
Blog Post And Images (c) 1/13/16 by Don Shetterly
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