I remember when I was young, whenever I did something that wasn't the most responsible, thoughtful, mature or forward thinking my grandfather would look at me, shake his head, point at me and shake his finger wildly saying, "Sister, one day you're going to wake up and you're going to be as old as I am....." then he would finish with his point of view, or maybe just put his head down and shake it disapprovingly. I always shrugged it off, after all, what's that supposed to mean anyway, right?
Today I woke up and I was as old as he was. Maybe not in numbers, but I feel every day of my nearly thirty years. I'm tired in every way possible. I ache all over, my body, my head, my heart. There are those that laugh at me when I shake my own head and say, "I'm just too old for this....." They laugh because my numbers don't reflect my experience. Sparing you the details and perhaps sparing myself embarrassment, I'll just say that Ive seen abuse of every kind at a variety of ages, Ive been a military wife, Ive been the one sitting at home, going crazy sick with worry and fear through September 11th, a war on two fronts, then the shame and devastation of divorce, death, sickness, CF. My highs go as high as motherhood and my lows are too many and too shameful to display to the world. I am mother of a ten year old and a three year old, I am a nurse, a fiance, a daughter, a sister, a friend. I am anything I need to be for whoever needs me. I am severely codependent, I acknowledge it and I don't feel the need to change it. I sit in my living room observing the happenings. My little girls running around playing with their friends. Those are my little girls.....when did I get this old? I don't feel old enough to have children this age. I am sitting in this house, Justin and I have discussions about mortgages, savings, retirement, 401k's, buying furniture, replacing flooring and what kind of cabinets we want in the kitchen when we finally decide to replace them. Who has conversations like these? Who talks about this stuff? I'll tell you who, old people......
I read the blog Postsecret. Every Sunday there are new secrets posted. Mondays I sit and read through them, contemplating. What would I write on a single post card? Would my secrets fit on a single post card? How many post cards would it take for me to empty that little box in the farthest reaches of my mind. Would I dare put them on paper? Would I dare give light to the secrets that pull me down when I am at my lowest? Would I dare to acknowledge the ugly parts that keep me from believing that I am worth more than my worst thoughts or past actions? I don't know that I could.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, how empowering it must be to write down the secret, focus on it, decorate that card, personalize it, give it power for that one last moment and then send it away, away from you and to a place where maybe, just maybe it could help someone, make someone feel less "bad", less alone, less like a freak, where it could help instead of hinder, where it could help create instead of destroy.....
I don't really know where I was going with this one, but life has gotten in the way and I have lost my line of thought....dinner, bath, and now its time for bed......Im going to leave this one as a To Be Continued.......
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