I have never had a one-track mind. My mind is a swirling, swooshing, chaotic mix of so many topics at once, at any moment, that it is hard to explain. I see bits of them floating by, and it is so hard sometimes to grasp and hold tight to just one long enough to develop it into a complete thought worth posting. Other days I know exactly what I need to write about. Some stories demand to be written.
Then I think about why I started this blog, just over a year ago now. I started this blog to have a safe place to put all the thoughts that I dare not discuss with most people face to face. A place to pour out my heart and soul and feel a human connection, without seeing the horror, pity, disgust, shock, etc that always accompanies my memoirs. A place for myself – and others – to seek out support, to draw strength, and examine these thoughts and memoirs with the main purpose of growth.
I am so happy to say that this blog has done exactly that. It has grown. I have grown. I like to think some of my readers have grown right along with me, based on the comments so lovingly placed here.
This blog has also helped me reduce my internal sense of shame. It has helped me to see that it is OK to tell about my abusive childhood. It has helped me to understand that although disgusting things happened to me – that I am not disgusting. I can’t believe that was the core of my existence. I hated myself, thought I was disgusting, less than human, not worthy of love. I thought the best I could hope for in life was to be perfect, hide my disgusting past, help others every day – always put others before myself, and maybe then I would have a life worth living and would not bother anyone. Just work harder and someone may tolerate you. Love – someone truly loving me – was not really even a dream of mine, just seemed an impossible fantasy.
Writing down the details of my life, both the painful past, and the confusing present, I was able to see what needed to change. Am I done changing and growing? Nope. Not until the day I die. (Which I no longer wish to accelerate) Every day I get to learn and practice new life skills.
So now I have all this information, so many different topics, from family and parenting, from coping with pain, grief, despair, addiction, cognitive distortions, panic attacks, dysfunctional families, effective communication, PTSD, depression, schizophrenia, nutrition, marriage, love, anger, intimacy, sexual healing, psychiatry, talk therapy, antidepressants, ADD, OCD, dreams, nightmares, sleep disorders, chronic pain, spinal cord injuries, nerve damage, physical therapy, brain studies and research, creativity – and so much more!
This blog has been a place of inspiration for me. But mostly it has been a tool in my recovery process for healing from childhood abuse. I have documented a bit of my journey, and I can always go back and read this and see how far I have come, and how many different lovely people took the time to support me. Me. The real Me, the Me that I thought was too disgusting to share.
So I guess, I’m sitting here, feeling this foreign feeling again, this feeling that I thought was a myth, and wanted to document that too.
I am content. Not joyous, ecstatic, or amazed at this moment. A bit happy, a bit peaceful, a whole bunch thankful, and mostly I am content in my own skin. Content to be a work in progress. Content to carry on, knowing I can hold my head up high. Content with the progress I have made. Content with my future that is within reach, and content with the future that I can not yet see.