I don’t think my deepest regret in life will be that I didn’t learn to line dance, although that did make for an awkward evening at the Bushwackers Saloon, but rather that I didn’t take the time or have the courage to dig into my story and allow the light to penetrate unhealed wounds.
Well, I have taken the time. and know that healing comes in layers. As I continue to expose the forcefields I built to protect my wounded heart, I am both shrouded in misery and swallowed in comfort on my voyage toward wholeness. I am finding this journey of uncovering and healing requires significant and sustaining determination.
Everyone’s story is different. Obviously. Some of us emerge into adulthood gliding on the blessings and graces of our parents with only a few bumps and scrapes, while others of us had to build strong protective shields to stave off any perceived threatening assaults and injuries. The word perceived is paramount here.
My parents did the best they could with what they knew, but the slow drip of damning messages left me with, “I’ll never be enough, thin enough, pretty enough, devout enough, enough enough…” which morphed into disturbing behaviors, rage, and addictions. They made their way into my neural pathways, leaving perceptions and misperceptions that have taken years to expose.
More to come on my story from my soon-to-be-published book by Joshua Tree Publishing, Soul Weeds and Other Tangling Tales, My Life in Simple Stories and Essays. Stay Tuned.