I think one of the most difficult parts of growing up is finding the strength to pull the skeletons from your closet. It would seem so much easier to hide them away forever and leave the past in the past, but in everything we have done that we are not proud of, there is a little piece of ourselves hidden among the ashes.
I hear a lot of people say they are broken. I have even said it myself in the past.
What if we don’t have to be broken?
What if there was a way to put ourselves back together?
When I first started writing my memoir, I remember it being very painful at times. Revisiting memories that I had selectively forgotten in order to save my own sanity.
As soon as I opened the door to my childhood, they all came rushing out and the wall of security I had built began tumbling down out around me.
It was from within one of the lowest moments of my life that I found my greatest strength.
One by one, I confronted all the residual emotional patterns that I had built up during those years.
The feelings of disappointment, neglect, abandonment, and loss.
The root of my constant need for approval and codependency.
My fear of love or the loss there of.
Piece by piece, I began putting myself back together.
Until I came to a place of great appreciation for all that I had experienced.
I was a new person the day I finished the first chapter and even more so as I wrote the final page.
And now, as I struggle with the pages of the 2nd, I am reminded of the same reluctance I felt when I wrote my very first blog post.
I know writing this next phase of my story will be just as, if not more of an emotional roller coaster than that last.
The first was during my early childhood and most of it was about my mother and her skeletons. There was aftermath, but it was her aftermath.
This next book will begin as I am entering High school, my mother having been missing for just short of a year. I was lost and confused, but determined to act like neither of those were true. I don’t even know that girl now.
I picked up one of my old journals for inspiration and I barely got through the first few pages before I had to put it down. I could feel the pain on those pages and worse yet, I knew what was to come.
The moment my mother left me, something in me changed. Something it took years of reflection to understand. I spent a great deal of my life beyond that point feeling as though I always had to prove something to someone. In the earlier years it was proving to everyone else that I was not my mother. Showing them that I could conquer anything and everything she couldn’t.
Needless to say, it led me down a road where I did a lot of things I am not necessarily proud of. Things…the majority of the people in my life have no idea I did and for that matter would have a hard time believing I ever could do.
Up until now, I was not ready to share these things with anyone, let alone the whole world.
But you know what?
The person I am today is not just the result of all of the good things I have done. It is also and maybe more so, everything I have done that I am not proud of, those little piece of myself hidden among the ashes.
I am living proof that in this life, we are not bound by the mistakes of our past or the circumstances placed on us by others.
If telling my story is an inspiration to even just one, it’s worth it. That was the whole reason I started this blog and went on to write the book. So believe me when I say, I am not going to quit now, just because I hit a raw moment!
Thank you to everyone who has been so patient, yet persistent 🙂 in kicking my butt back in gear!
The wheels have started turning and I promise you’ll be the first ones to get a sneak peek!