Dear Readers,
I’m going to create a category called “dear readers” where I can be transparent and raw with my feelings and experiences for a moment. A way to release all that does not serve me in a positive way. I would like to reveal a vulnerable side of myself to better connect with all that follow this blog.
But as well, I would like to write these to share with my children one day.
I’ve reached a point where I desperately need to express and empty in writing all these unresolved emotions and “traumas” that I have been carrying for many years. I do not wish to past these to my children. But I hope to gain solutions and euphonies to help them when they face these obstacles one day.
I’m not really into your typical therapy. Talking about it can only do so much for me. Writing and reading are my therapy. I have to write it all down. I have think about it. I have to soak myself in emotion and words and allow myself to shiver.
It’s a puzzle that I know only I can truly solve.
Since childhood writing has always been a therapeutic tool for me. A way to strip the emotional pain or negative emotions from myself.
It’s always been a processing tactic for me. The only thing was, I would write it all down and then just completely ignore what I wrote. Well I’m older now and instead of ignoring the problems after I write I’m digging deeper for discoveries to better myself.
Writing was the release…..but as my love for reading has grown I also know how reading others writings can encourage and help others. Which is why I decide to share and write what I do on this blog.
My mom was in an abusive relationship during a good chunk of my childhood. Lots of screaming and crying behind closed doors. And I would hear her get thrown around often behind those closed doors. I know they didn’t want to fight in front of us, but our ears provided plenty of visuals.
This could be where my love for writing stemmed from honestly. I would write as they would be fighting. Expressing my hate for my stepdad. I would write prayers for help. It was all so sad really. The most vivid memories of this are from ages 9, maybe 8 to 14.
I know it was sad because there was a moment where I sat down (I’m thinking early 20s) and read those old childhood journals and it disturbed me so much that I didn’t want to remember any of those memories ever again. So I destroyed those journals.
But just because the words are destroyed doesn’t mean the actual memories are erased. My body still remembers.
Being much older now and developing a more sense of self I regret destroying those time capsules. Because now I’m really trying to heal myself to be a better mother to my children and those journals were like a cheat sheet to healing.
And now it’s like playing a guessing game. Something will trigger me and I’m sitting there left and confused, pondering it all day.
Truth be told I thought I was completely fine and “happy”. It wasn’t until I had children that all my repressed emotions began to expose themselves like weeds during a rainy season.
There’s a great part of me that sometimes feels overwhelmed, like now for example. Where I have to sit in a puddle of feels and just think about it.
It’s like, thinking you aced a test and then getting your test back and seeing that you failed. Sometimes I feel/think like “I’m healed, I’m good. I’m past it all.” I think that I can officially move forward and then I’ll have a humbling moment (usually provided to me by my kids) and I’m left dumbfounded. I’ve been shown that my emotions from my past are still greatly controlling me. That the work is definitely not complete.
It’s extremely frustrating. Parenting. Having “screw up” moments is really hard. Putting your tail between your legs in front of your children is super hard.
You want to be the best mother for your children however life shows you that you’re still a child yourself and that you’ve got lots of growing to still do.
Anyways, today I share and tell and I’m looking forward to sharing more.
Lots of love always,
m.g.
The Wild Gems 