The last few weeks have been interesting. Blogging was a new experience for me; one that I knew I wanted to do, but didn’t consider all of the consequences of it. Most families have a closet, in their minds where they bury the past. Some people lock that closet door and never let anyone in; others open the door wide open and parade the contents to everyone. I’m trying to find the balance and it’s challenging. The challenge is to be the survivor and not the victim; I don’t want pity, or even understanding, I want change. Opening my closet door means I have opened myself up to criticism and scrutiny; I understood that when I started the blog.
What I didn’t consider strong enough was that, the journal I told you I wrote in?, in the Courage to Heal story?; it’s been opened as well. I am dealing with old emotions along with some of you. It’s nothing I can put my finger on, but the emotions sometimes bubble to the surface. I understand your fear: of exposure, your grief of things lost, the key on your closet door. I understand. It’s hard.
I hear from you and you tell me that a blog was welcome, or that it hurt; you tell me to keep writing, and that you can’t read anymore. Thank you for your honest feedback. My motivation to blog is change and I know that it is slow coming; that fear is sometimes all consuming, and that you can only crack the closet door open once in a while. It’s ok. I’m going to be here; I’ve made a commitment to myself to blog for a year. Sometimes closing the damn door is healing! Lock that sucker up and rest up; get strong. If you need to open it again come back.
My disappointment and something else I didn’t consider is that people are reluctant to share and so my audience stays small. Someone I love said, “I don’t want to share it and have everyone think I was abused.” Lol, I get it! If you get a chance, would you talk to one person about generalized abuse, physical, sexual, emotional, verbal….talk to one person about the subject.
I am so proud of you because you are a survivor. You’re not blaming someone else, you’re stretching and growing, and I know how hard that is.
Being at a place in your life, where you’re happy with who you are (most of the time), is a wonderful place to be. I wished with all my heart that I could have had the innocent adolescence, the secure male relationships, and the confidence that comes to a young woman, when those things are provided to her. But who would I be then? Would I have the same amount of empathy? Would I be as brave as my journey has made me? Would I be me? Our past shapes us; the good and the bad. Can we embrace it? Can you embrace yourself?