And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom
I want to thank everyone who commented on my last post. When I receive such warmth it means so much, I can't adequately put into words how you touch my heart.
I stutter every time anyone asks me about my childhood. I have a thousand different stories that are close to the truth but not quite the truth. Ones that tidy up the corner's and smooth out the edges, making the past a little neater, cleaner and easier to put into words. I have spent a lifetime writing them in my mind and a lifetime trying to avoid having to tell them.
I have this shame connected to my past. Shame that stems from being the odd one out, having parents with problems, being an only child, having to make my own way without any of the normal securities in place that a family provides. I spent many years in a state of tension. I felt like I had to make sure my parents were okay, that things were taken care of. I spent a good deal of time trying to cover everything up so that no one on the outside would notice. I built a lot of walls, till the person I was on the outside was a hash up of what I thought I had to become to be "normal" or accepted.
I am slowly becoming ready to open up. Lean into my own story. Remember it as it really was. Good, bad and all the bits in between... Then tell it the way it really was. Give it some love :)
I recently read a wonderful little e-book found here, in which the author talks about how she will sit with herself when ever she is feeling out of sorts and with compassion ask different parts of her body what is hurting them.
I find I get myself busy instead of taking time to sit and be with myself. If I am in discomfort I wade through it, plough through it, put it out of my path by putting something else in it's place.
I need to sit with myself, see myself with compassion, see the child I was, the one that is a part of me, and ask her quietly and simply, what has been hurting you?
Then listen in silence without judgement.
The Song of the Silent Snow.