Sisters of Grace

The things that I want to say are hard to say. I find that when I am truly wrestling with hurt or despair, that I don’t want to blog. I would prefer to think on the issue, maybe journal about it or pray but never really blog. I really enjoy blogging and I usually sit down and do it when I am in rather a good mood. This was a hard week emotionally for my husband and I. Therefore I avoided my blog the past few days, feeling the words welling up inside me.

I often feel misunderstood although I can express myself well, at times I struggle to feel like I belong. Most of the time I think that I am on a different plane of existence! So many words, yet so little to say. How do you tell someone that your heart hurts? What are the right words to get someone to see the way you truly feel? I love to write poems, and letting the pen drift in my journal. Tonight, I decided to try it in a blog. My husband and I both grew up in pretty rough home life situations from domestic violence, neglect, poverty, and the list goes on. There are scars, and often they are like scabs being reopened over and over again.

The wounds that we try our best to heal and even hide are often uncovered by meaningless things. For my husband, he was reminded of being used by his parents when he had very little money and they would lie to him about how much something cost. They would take all the money they could get and he would often be hungry. This memory came flooding back this week when we were looking for car insurance, for our newest driver our son! Such an exciting and happy time, brought up feelings of deep pain. These feelings my husband thought were gone. There isn’t a magic formulas for getting over childhood trauma. Only we can look at those memories, feelings, and accepting them. This too shall pass…

For me, this week I was verbally attacked by my grandmother and it hurt my feelings. The reason, because I invited my family to a party on a day that they could not make it so I was made to feel as if I was an inconvenience and a burden. The wounded child in me, instantly felt those familiar feelings of rejection. I was angry, sad, hurt, and frustrated because I knew that no matter what I would be made to feel like a problem. If I kept quiet or voiced my pain it would still be there lingering in the air, a rancid taste in my mouth. Many times people go to therapy to talk to someone about their trauma.

How can you tell all the ways you have been hurt or to even think about, how do you say the right words? Can you get your point across, without seeming like a child throwing a tantrum? That was always the hardest part about therapy as an adult for me. I didn’t want to seem like someone who gets mad over trivial things, how can you tell someone that the way you felt was real? It wasn’t blown out of proportion? It was a deep need that was never met, long ago? When you acknowledge that cut on your hand does it go away? My heart felt sympathetic to my husband because I have felt that way many times, something small can trigger a painful memory.

As I kept replaying the conversations, thinking about what I could have said or how I could I have better handled those things this week: I realize that life is not linear. There are many paths and ways to healing. What works for one may be different for another, the best love I can give myself is being proud of how far I have come. Here I am sharing and not closing myself off. I am willing to examine myself and those hard feelings. I am thankful for this platform. WordPress, gives me a voice and a place to connect to things that matter to me. As the great Maya Angelou said: “And Still I Rise…”

I pray that you have a great week, Happy Reading!

The photo is mine: ©️ShilohRise77