There are days when I mourn her loss, though I never really knew her at all. What I want most is to love her. And what I’m truly mourning I think, is my failure and inability to truly see her, acknowledge her, console her, wrap her up in my arms and love her, encourage her, and help her grow to see safety in the world around her so that she can become the best she can be.
Breaking free is hard. I’ve looked back on my blog posts over the years, which are all over the place of course, and I’ve visited my old writing accounts on various forums. Stopping short of digging out the plastic bins in storage filled with notebooks and journals, little scraps of paper, article and magazine clippings dating back as far as the 1980s — I just wanted to refresh myself on where I’ve been and where I may be going. Countless times I’ve proclaimed to be washed anew. Fresh-eyed. Open-hearted. Ready to forge ahead at my goals full steam only to
Feeling very much like my life is so piecemeal it’s impossible. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately: how compartmentalized it’s become. Sometimes compartmentalizing can be a good thing, sometimes not so much. A coping mechanism? A tool to succeed? A method to hide? If it hasn’t been somewhat obvious, amongst my many issues lurks childhood trauma. Too often, I feel moved or motivated to share about that and I have to stop myself. Why? Well, for starters, there are members of my family who would be hurt to hear the truth and I just can’t do that to