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I think my son has lived my life before. He told me my future and I’m terrified.
Let me just start by saying my 6-year-old son and I are very close. From an extremely young age, he has been able to sympathize with me and has been extremely emotionally intelligent. The thing is, It’s not with everyone. It’s just me. He feels like just a regular boy with everyone else, but he always knows what to say when I’m having a hard day. I try not to show it, but he somehow knows.
Emotional intelligence is how I’ve always played it off. But now, I’m not so sure anymore.
Since my son could talk and form sentences, he has said things to me that he should have no way of knowing. It started out with him saying things like
“Mommy, don’t worry. I still think you are pretty!”
That day, I was really struggling with my body image. I put on a few pounds and hated myself. Of course, I didn’t let my son see me crying in the mirror or grabbing the rolls on my stomach. I mean, little boys always think their mother is beautiful. Right? It’s not like he knew.
Soon after that, he mentioned to me that he missed ‘Bethany’. I asked him who Bethany was, and he looked at me like I was crazy. He told me it was his sister who died. My son never had a sister. However, I had a sister who died at 16 whose name was Bethany. I never mentioned it to him. I thought maybe it was a fluke.
Next, I lost my job. Once again, he had no clue it happened. I was reading him a bedtime story, and he put his hand over the book and looked up at me. He got a serious look on his face and said,
“It’ll be okay. You’ll find a job next week, and it’ll pay better too.”
It felt weird that he found out about the job loss, but I didn’t think much about it. Once I did, in fact, get a job next week that also paid better, I was weirded out. I asked my mother about it, and she said it’s probably just the close bond that a mom and son always have.
“Kids are weird. Every parent has their own story of a time when their kid said something terrifying to them.” She tried to explain to me.
A few months ago, it started to become an everyday thing where he would say something about a subject he shouldn’t know.
Then about a month ago, it went from him knowing things he shouldn’t to him saying things like:
“I remember when I was a girl and I loved the color purple.”
“I remember when I was a mommy and I cried a lot.”
“I remember when I was a mommy and I wanted to run away.”
This felt weird to me. It wasn’t like he thought he was a girl. I asked him once why he thought he was a girl. He looked at me frustrated and said,
“I’m not a girl now. I was a girl before I was a boy.”
He kept telling me stories of all the things he did when he was a girl. He would tell me things about myself that I've never told anybody. Even my husband.
When I told my husband I was starting to get scared of my son, he said I was being dramatic. I guess it doesn't help my case that I didn’t tell my husband everything my son said to me. When he said things like missing his dead sister, that was one thing. But, well.
Let’s just say I’ve not always been a saintly woman. I have a past. I mean. We have all done things we aren’t proud of, but my husband doesn’t know about these things.
First of all, I stole a lot as a teenager. Nothing too crazy. I think a lot of teenagers do that, honestly.
The more serious things I kept from him are: I got a DUI in college; my ex has a restraining order over me; I was a stripper for several years; and worst of all, I cheated on my husband a few years ago. It was dumb, and I regret it. But I will never tell him.
My son had mentioned doing all these things when ‘he was a girl’ or ‘when he was a mommy’
Of course, in child terms, but nonetheless, he described all those things.
He hasn’t mentioned much to anyone else. Mostly just me.
He hasn’t come right out and said that he was me or anything. If he were me, maybe he doesn’t realize it. Maybe he just has random, fuzzy memories of another life.
Last week, I noticed he seemed down. He wasn’t really talking like he normally does. I felt like a terrible mother. I was thankful he wasn’t talking. It felt like every time I talked to him, I got more and more scared of him.
One day, he crawled into my bed with me in the morning. He took a deep sigh and looked at me.
“I remember when I was a mommy and that car hurt me tomorrow.”
My heart sank, and I didn’t even know what to say, but I mustered up the courage.
“Honey, what is going to happen to me tomorrow?” I said while pushing away the hair falling in his face as a nervous tick.
“I remember it hurting so bad. I don’t want you to feel the pain too. Don’t go. Don’t do it.”
I sat, looking him deep in his eyes. My bed, which felt so warm and comforting a few minutes ago, now felt cold and hard. What was going to happen to me?
I kept asking him what was going to happen to me. Every time I asked, he got more and more upset. My husband woke up after I asked him for the fifth time. He got so mad at me. I can’t blame him. I was clutching our son's shoulders and screaming.
“Tell me! Tell me!”
I said, over and over and over again.
My son didn’t talk to me for the rest of the day.
The next day, I tried to explain to my husband what our son said and how I was scared. Because this was the first time my husband heard of my son saying such crazy things, he didn’t believe I was in danger. We had dinner plans with some friends that night. It was the last thing I wanted to do. I figured since my son mentioned a car, I needed to just stay away from them at all costs. I tried to convince my husband I was sick, but he, of course, didn’t believe me. I should’ve said I was sick from the very beginning and not told him the real reason for wanting to stay home.
My son's babysitter made it to the house. As we said our goodnights to our boy, he gave me a sad hug. Not only that, but he couldn’t take his eyes off my left hand. After our hug, he grabbed my fingers and squeezed them tightly. I knew something was about to happen to my hand. I felt like I could anticipate the pain.
We walked out the door, and my husband guided me to the car door. He opened it up and helped me in. Although it didn’t feel like he was trying to be a gentleman, It felt like he was scared that I was going to run. He wasn’t wrong.
After a few minutes of driving, I felt the anxiety building. I felt sick. At a stoplight, I noticed the car door was unlocked. I slipped off my heels and opened the car door.
I was trying to move way faster than my feet could take me. I didn’t see the curb and tripped over. Face planting in the process.
My husband came running over to help me up. I thought he would be mad that I tried to run away. I thought he would call me a brat or worse. But he didn’t. He could see how scared I was. He realized it didn’t matter if what I was feeling was real or not. But he needed to respect my fear and worry.
He tried to help me back into the car. He said we would go back home, but I refused to go in the car. I told him we had to walk. This is when he started to get frustrated. He felt like he did his best to compromise and emphasize with my anxieties, but he wasn’t willing to walk 2 miles home in 40-degree weather at 7p.m.
Looking back, I understand why he was so annoyed.
He grabbed my shoulders and took a deep breath. He started nudging me back to the car. The nudging turned into pushing, and the pushing turned into forcing. I was pushing back and doing everything in my power to not go into the car. I was kicking and screaming. A few other cars pulled over to help. I’m sure they were thinking something much worse was actually happening.
Before anyone could get to me, he got me into the car. As he was slamming the door, I reached out my hand to try and stop it. The next few minutes were so fuzzy. I could feel my hand pulsing. I could vaguely hear my husband screaming and apologizing profusely. Followed by strangers separating us and trying to help.
An ambulance showed up a few minutes later, and that’s when I noticed my hand. My index, middle, and ring fingers had been smashed in the car door. Half of my middle finger was completely gone.
We went to the ER, and about 80% of my fingers were saved, luckily.
If it wasn’t obvious, my husband felt terrible. Not only for what happened to my fingers, but for being so aggressive with me and not listening to me. I know I should’ve been more bothered, but I have other family members I’m more worried about.
After that, I accepted that I needed to take what my son said about my future seriously. That week, he said more disturbing things.
“I remember when I was a mommy and I set the house on fire.”
“I remember when I was a mommy and I stabbed my husband.”
“I remember when I was a mommy and the scary man took me into the forest.”
“I remember when I was a mommy and the monster from the closet hurt me.”
I was terrified of the things that would happen to me. I know children can’t always describe or articulate words that well at a young age, but that didn’t help me feel any better.
I tried to ask him for details of what he meant, but once he said something, he usually didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Especially if it seemed to be traumatizing. It’s like the memory would flash in his head and it had to blurt it out.
The reason I am writing all this out in the first place is because of what he told me today. The two of us were coloring at the kitchen table, and without even looking up at me, he said
“I remember when I was a mommy and my son killed me.”
I froze in fear. I couldn’t believe the chill that ran down my spine. And the fact that he didn’t seem fazed by it at all. He just kept coloring his pirate ship.
I need help. What the heck am I supposed to do? I don’t even know how to process any of this. I don’t believe in reincarnation or anything like that. Even if I did, is that even how it works? There shouldn’t be an overlap in lives like this, right? But how else is something like this explained? It’s not like my kid can just see the past and future. He has seen my whole life before. And from HIS perspective? He doesn’t find it strange that my life used to be his? He is also aware enough to recognize a memory, like when I lost my job, and he comforted me knowing that I’ll get a new job soon. This whole thing is hurting my brain. I love my son, but I’m so terrified and feel crazy.
Someone, please help me. I don’t know what to do.
#entertainment
source
Let me just start by saying my 6-year-old son and I are very close. From an extremely young age, he has been able to sympathize with me and has been extremely emotionally intelligent. The thing is, It’s not with everyone. It’s just me. He feels like just a regular boy with everyone else, but he always knows what to say when I’m having a hard day. I try not to show it, but he somehow knows.
Emotional intelligence is how I’ve always played it off. But now, I’m not so sure anymore.
Since my son could talk and form sentences, he has said things to me that he should have no way of knowing. It started out with him saying things like
“Mommy, don’t worry. I still think you are pretty!”
That day, I was really struggling with my body image. I put on a few pounds and hated myself. Of course, I didn’t let my son see me crying in the mirror or grabbing the rolls on my stomach. I mean, little boys always think their mother is beautiful. Right? It’s not like he knew.
Soon after that, he mentioned to me that he missed ‘Bethany’. I asked him who Bethany was, and he looked at me like I was crazy. He told me it was his sister who died. My son never had a sister. However, I had a sister who died at 16 whose name was Bethany. I never mentioned it to him. I thought maybe it was a fluke.
Next, I lost my job. Once again, he had no clue it happened. I was reading him a bedtime story, and he put his hand over the book and looked up at me. He got a serious look on his face and said,
“It’ll be okay. You’ll find a job next week, and it’ll pay better too.”
It felt weird that he found out about the job loss, but I didn’t think much about it. Once I did, in fact, get a job next week that also paid better, I was weirded out. I asked my mother about it, and she said it’s probably just the close bond that a mom and son always have.
“Kids are weird. Every parent has their own story of a time when their kid said something terrifying to them.” She tried to explain to me.
A few months ago, it started to become an everyday thing where he would say something about a subject he shouldn’t know.
Then about a month ago, it went from him knowing things he shouldn’t to him saying things like:
“I remember when I was a girl and I loved the color purple.”
“I remember when I was a mommy and I cried a lot.”
“I remember when I was a mommy and I wanted to run away.”
This felt weird to me. It wasn’t like he thought he was a girl. I asked him once why he thought he was a girl. He looked at me frustrated and said,
“I’m not a girl now. I was a girl before I was a boy.”
He kept telling me stories of all the things he did when he was a girl. He would tell me things about myself that I've never told anybody. Even my husband.
When I told my husband I was starting to get scared of my son, he said I was being dramatic. I guess it doesn't help my case that I didn’t tell my husband everything my son said to me. When he said things like missing his dead sister, that was one thing. But, well.
Let’s just say I’ve not always been a saintly woman. I have a past. I mean. We have all done things we aren’t proud of, but my husband doesn’t know about these things.
First of all, I stole a lot as a teenager. Nothing too crazy. I think a lot of teenagers do that, honestly.
The more serious things I kept from him are: I got a DUI in college; my ex has a restraining order over me; I was a stripper for several years; and worst of all, I cheated on my husband a few years ago. It was dumb, and I regret it. But I will never tell him.
My son had mentioned doing all these things when ‘he was a girl’ or ‘when he was a mommy’
Of course, in child terms, but nonetheless, he described all those things.
He hasn’t mentioned much to anyone else. Mostly just me.
He hasn’t come right out and said that he was me or anything. If he were me, maybe he doesn’t realize it. Maybe he just has random, fuzzy memories of another life.
Last week, I noticed he seemed down. He wasn’t really talking like he normally does. I felt like a terrible mother. I was thankful he wasn’t talking. It felt like every time I talked to him, I got more and more scared of him.
One day, he crawled into my bed with me in the morning. He took a deep sigh and looked at me.
“I remember when I was a mommy and that car hurt me tomorrow.”
My heart sank, and I didn’t even know what to say, but I mustered up the courage.
“Honey, what is going to happen to me tomorrow?” I said while pushing away the hair falling in his face as a nervous tick.
“I remember it hurting so bad. I don’t want you to feel the pain too. Don’t go. Don’t do it.”
I sat, looking him deep in his eyes. My bed, which felt so warm and comforting a few minutes ago, now felt cold and hard. What was going to happen to me?
I kept asking him what was going to happen to me. Every time I asked, he got more and more upset. My husband woke up after I asked him for the fifth time. He got so mad at me. I can’t blame him. I was clutching our son's shoulders and screaming.
“Tell me! Tell me!”
I said, over and over and over again.
My son didn’t talk to me for the rest of the day.
The next day, I tried to explain to my husband what our son said and how I was scared. Because this was the first time my husband heard of my son saying such crazy things, he didn’t believe I was in danger. We had dinner plans with some friends that night. It was the last thing I wanted to do. I figured since my son mentioned a car, I needed to just stay away from them at all costs. I tried to convince my husband I was sick, but he, of course, didn’t believe me. I should’ve said I was sick from the very beginning and not told him the real reason for wanting to stay home.
My son's babysitter made it to the house. As we said our goodnights to our boy, he gave me a sad hug. Not only that, but he couldn’t take his eyes off my left hand. After our hug, he grabbed my fingers and squeezed them tightly. I knew something was about to happen to my hand. I felt like I could anticipate the pain.
We walked out the door, and my husband guided me to the car door. He opened it up and helped me in. Although it didn’t feel like he was trying to be a gentleman, It felt like he was scared that I was going to run. He wasn’t wrong.
After a few minutes of driving, I felt the anxiety building. I felt sick. At a stoplight, I noticed the car door was unlocked. I slipped off my heels and opened the car door.
I was trying to move way faster than my feet could take me. I didn’t see the curb and tripped over. Face planting in the process.
My husband came running over to help me up. I thought he would be mad that I tried to run away. I thought he would call me a brat or worse. But he didn’t. He could see how scared I was. He realized it didn’t matter if what I was feeling was real or not. But he needed to respect my fear and worry.
He tried to help me back into the car. He said we would go back home, but I refused to go in the car. I told him we had to walk. This is when he started to get frustrated. He felt like he did his best to compromise and emphasize with my anxieties, but he wasn’t willing to walk 2 miles home in 40-degree weather at 7p.m.
Looking back, I understand why he was so annoyed.
He grabbed my shoulders and took a deep breath. He started nudging me back to the car. The nudging turned into pushing, and the pushing turned into forcing. I was pushing back and doing everything in my power to not go into the car. I was kicking and screaming. A few other cars pulled over to help. I’m sure they were thinking something much worse was actually happening.
Before anyone could get to me, he got me into the car. As he was slamming the door, I reached out my hand to try and stop it. The next few minutes were so fuzzy. I could feel my hand pulsing. I could vaguely hear my husband screaming and apologizing profusely. Followed by strangers separating us and trying to help.
An ambulance showed up a few minutes later, and that’s when I noticed my hand. My index, middle, and ring fingers had been smashed in the car door. Half of my middle finger was completely gone.
We went to the ER, and about 80% of my fingers were saved, luckily.
If it wasn’t obvious, my husband felt terrible. Not only for what happened to my fingers, but for being so aggressive with me and not listening to me. I know I should’ve been more bothered, but I have other family members I’m more worried about.
After that, I accepted that I needed to take what my son said about my future seriously. That week, he said more disturbing things.
“I remember when I was a mommy and I set the house on fire.”
“I remember when I was a mommy and I stabbed my husband.”
“I remember when I was a mommy and the scary man took me into the forest.”
“I remember when I was a mommy and the monster from the closet hurt me.”
I was terrified of the things that would happen to me. I know children can’t always describe or articulate words that well at a young age, but that didn’t help me feel any better.
I tried to ask him for details of what he meant, but once he said something, he usually didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Especially if it seemed to be traumatizing. It’s like the memory would flash in his head and it had to blurt it out.
The reason I am writing all this out in the first place is because of what he told me today. The two of us were coloring at the kitchen table, and without even looking up at me, he said
“I remember when I was a mommy and my son killed me.”
I froze in fear. I couldn’t believe the chill that ran down my spine. And the fact that he didn’t seem fazed by it at all. He just kept coloring his pirate ship.
I need help. What the heck am I supposed to do? I don’t even know how to process any of this. I don’t believe in reincarnation or anything like that. Even if I did, is that even how it works? There shouldn’t be an overlap in lives like this, right? But how else is something like this explained? It’s not like my kid can just see the past and future. He has seen my whole life before. And from HIS perspective? He doesn’t find it strange that my life used to be his? He is also aware enough to recognize a memory, like when I lost my job, and he comforted me knowing that I’ll get a new job soon. This whole thing is hurting my brain. I love my son, but I’m so terrified and feel crazy.
Someone, please help me. I don’t know what to do.
#entertainment
source
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