Sunday Musings ~Part 2: To you my friends …

Making the transition from blogging for friends and the odd person who stumbles across my words, to writing knowing that people on occasion finds my thoughts worthy enough to pass along, is a journey.

I didn’t know how much I needed this process to become more until only a few days ago. Underneath my bed is journal upon journal covered front to back with my written word beginning at the age of 12.  For me it was more than the angst of adolescence, it was my saving grace.  Living in the chaos of my home, I needed an escape.  By the age of 8 you could find me with a flashlight under the covers at 3 in the morning, blocking out the noises coming from the rooms above, with my fingers plugging one ear, while my mind intently read the words on the pages, blocking out anything that might intrude on my escapism. By twelve I needed to be writing those words.

There were few times in my life where writing did not provide me with a needed friend.  For my childhood, my adolescence and the first 20 years of my adulthood, there were very few that ever saw any of those words.  In large part because of fear. Fear that someone would actually get to know the real me.  That they would see me; the broken, the damaged.  For me, I could not bear to raise my eyes and see the pity.  It was overwhelming.

 

 

But scars can heal and slowly as I took back the power that was in me and made that journey to acknowledge the authentic me, I have turned to writing in a new way.  Not to write a story of survival, but to write about my journey of my daily life.  For what I have come to realize, there is only one day that ever matters, and that is “today”. 

And that is where allowing you into my life has become one of my greatest gifts.  You see, I have made a promise.  A promise to always tell you like it really is.  I am going to tell you how my heart  is breaking into a million little pieces when I hold my fragile little granddaughter and I am going to tell you that although I don’t wish this on you for anything, I have been blessed beyond words with the love that only comes when one experiences great heartbreak.  

My granddaughter and my daughter, who bring me love beyond what I ever could have imagined

This brings me why it is important to letting others know the “real me”.  When my son was 16 years old he turned to me after he witnessed a conversation.  He said, “mom, do you ever tell the truth?”  His words hit me like a ton of bricks.  I was, in my estimation, outwardly the nicest person that I knew.  My job had become to make the world of people around me to feel safe, loved, and secure, no matter what the cost. Ultimately, the cost was me. And the respect of my son.

I didn’t know it at the time, but when I look back from that moment, 13 years ago, I realize it was the beginning of my journey.  Today I can take ownership.  I am NOT that 8 year old little girl, nor am I the 12, 26 or even 36 year old that thinks my only real friend is the journal that accepts me as I am.  Today I am proud to be a 49 and one half year old woman.  I am single but I have friends and children and grandchildren that love me, adore me, and sometimes roll their eyes at me J.  There are days when I want someone to change my lightbulbs, make me dinner or listen to me rage at the unfairness of life, knowing that I know and he knows that fixing the problem is not an option, but holding me close while my body is racked with sobs is all that I really need.  There are days that I want my friends to suddenly think of me, send me a text, ask how I am…yet the phone is silent.

And then I found you. Not a replacement to the absolutely wonderful people who share my life today or who may share it in the future, but an addition to my life.  When I can’t sleep at 3 am, someone will be there.  And on the days that I seem to need it the most, one of you reaches out and tells me that I made a difference in your life. When unrealistic expectations can ruin ones everyday life, you step in and let me know that you understand.  And so today, while sipping my coffee, and allowing my Sunday musings find their way to my page, for you, I am grateful.

 

Some of my wonderful people, my son, his wife, and two of my grandchildren

 

Me, enjoying the brisk wind on the ferry as I contemplate my next "musing"