June 1, 2018
I started writing at the insistence of my therapist because, turns out, I couldn’t verbally express myself. Weird right? I’m this super wordy, always chatty person who seemed to be emotionally stunted. I couldn’t yell about it, I refused to cry about it, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to confront anyone about it. So I journaled. I said all the horribly nasty, unbearably sad, and basically just pathetic monologues in my personal journal.
Until I made it public and found others like me. That sad story, told from the perspective of my emotionally undone and mourning self, it’s pretty ugly and told in a really sloppy, really raw way. But it helped. It helped me to put the words on paper and exorcise them from the broken places of my mind and heart and soul. And it helped me find others. To see that I was, unfortunately, not alone in my very real grief. And then something happened. I started to heal. I started to get better. I was learning to love myself and forgive others. To be grateful for the breaking that led to the rebuilding. And I wish I would have continued chronicling the process. It would have made a really encouraging, redeeming timeline and snapshot of my healing. But I stopped. When I was no longer sad all the time, I became a little self-conscious of my process. I started wondering why anyone would care about my story. But worse, I became concerned that I would be discovered. Discovered as a fraud. Or a hypocrite. Or that I would just look like a vengeful and spiteful ex-wife. And I let my fear bring my writing, and with that my growth, to a stop. And I *am* a fraud and a hypocrite. I wasn’t just a victim. We all play the villain in someone else’s story. I became fearful by exposing myself, somewhere along the way someone would expose me as the antagonist in their story. Because surely I have been. Some of those stories I know, but I’m sure there’s more that I don’t. I used to praise the process of shining a light in my dark places. Yet I was terrified of the dark places I wasn’t yet ready to show. To really grow and to continue to heal, I need to be prepared to see my shadows. To acknowledge my villainous ways. So here I am. Ready to take up this space again.
I am perpetually in a place of forgiving and I will never not be healing. I hope that these growing pains never really stop. Because if they do, so have I. Instead, I will continue to practice recovery and healing and forgiveness and acknowledging that each day, I still need to suit up. To put on the armor. Or maybe take it off. To know when to fight and when to surrender. But be ever present and ever open to whatever lesson comes with each person, in each moment and with every backstep. I acknowledge and accept that wherever I am, is exactly where I should be.