It is hard to pinpoint one turning point in my life for a father of two beautiful, young children and a husband for almost 10 years of marriage. I have been blessed to be surrounded by many wonderful people who have helped me achieve many goals in my life. Meeting my wife, Elizabeth, was the absolute turning point in my life. Now it is not uncommon for any husband or wife to credit their spouse for good and bad. Sure, my wife is a big reason my dream of starting a family came to fruition and she has been a strong support for me to follow my dreams. But with all the wonderful achievements we have been able to accomplish, one precise decision allowed me to have a chance at all that I have accomplished and will be able to fulfill in my life.

As a child growing into a young adult, I had a wild imagination that, as I grew, became a constant voice in my head. I would always be told that I was “overthinking” things or “looking into” things too much. I began focusing on anxious thoughts that would keep me occupied for days, weeks, and months at a time. All the while, I was living the “best” years of my life, from what I was told. I pursued love quite a few times and was involved in many relationships throughout high school and college. One common problem was negatively “thinking too much” and worrying about the worst scenarios. In some cases, I felt that I was not deserving of happiness. Unfortunately, some of the people I dated, without relation to my negative thoughts, turned out not to be the right fit, to put it kindly.

These failed relationships only strengthened the thoughts of being unworthy of love or even worse being a terrible person. This continued into post-college life and for the most part, became an annoyance or obsession at times before I could move forward and focus on real life. As time passed, I moved out of my parent’s house and had a full-time job, but I had stayed single for the most part, fearing that I would somehow mess up my life before I met “the one”.

I worked with my wife at an oil company soon after graduating college and was involved in a long-term relationship, as was she at the time. Being a beautiful, kind person of the opposite sex, I kept her in mind when I moved on to another job and eventually separated from my relationship. I recruited Elizabeth to my new company, and we ended up working together for a few years before by chance, we were both single and attracted to one another.

Because I had thought about her being the one for me for quite some time while it was developing into a relationship, I had struggling thoughts of why this would not work and how I was almost living a lie, and once she got to know me, it would be over. Due to these thoughts eating at me and exhausting me, I started to almost test Elizabeth with little thoughts and facts to see if she would still be interested in me. This became an unhealthy outlet as I felt that if I spit out every negative thought I had and she happened to stay, it exonerated me from the anxiety and further thoughts. Sadly, this was not true. My thoughts would put me on trial day in and day out. I would be finding reasons that I was not worthy, or a horrible person. Despite facts, I would question myself and past decisions to the point that I was on the witness stand of my trial. My life would seem to pass me by as I was going through my personal court trial with memories and examples of why I could be horrible or not. My hell would subside after days until the next thought brought me to another “trial”.

Finally, my bride-to-be brought up OCD and how it can be treated through therapy and medication. I was skeptical as my brother would wash his hands repeatedly, which I considered the classic OCD characteristic, other than tapping objects and counting. I figured I was an anxious person and how could anything change my thought process, even medication? I was embarrassed to share my deep, dark secrets with a stranger. What if they judged me?

Well, my new addiction of spitting out what came to my mind to Elizabeth created an inevitable problem with our relationship. She strongly encouraged me to try therapy and I trusted her opinion. I also wanted to do whatever I could to make myself and our relationship better. Taking the plunge, like a roller coaster, I was riding the highs and lows of diving into my now-diagnosed OCD. Understanding this was a process, I kept up with for years and even expanded to medication with the encouragement of my therapist and none other than my now fiancé. No relationship is easy or perfect and just because I was getting help didn’t mean the problem was over or the damage was repaired.

The journey of living a better life began at that time and continues to this day as I have improved amazingly since but always must keep working to improve and battle through any hard times. I was able to focus on the things that mattered in my life, and it saw my career develop and some dreams followed. Ultimately none of my ambitions or family could have been achieved without the strong push to take care of myself. I have the confidence in myself to achieve anything and more importantly, pass it along to my children so that they never have to feel alone in their thoughts.

I have learned to understand past negative thoughts and anxiety while trying to prevent or prepare for future ones. My family is my life and a better me makes them better as well. Every person has their conflicts in life, but it is hard to understand that help can be achieved. If I had not met my wife, I would not have taken the step towards helping myself. As a result, I would not have my beautiful children and wife, not to mention the happiness I have found in all things in life. I could not imagine continuing to live on the path I had set for myself before therapy and medication.

The Secret
By MAlink

Dear Diary,
For the first 16 years of my life, I shared a secret with people I didn’t even know. I didn’t know that I was the secret. I am the oldest of eight kids, and until today, I believe we all shared the same parents.
Today, the man I had always believed was my father introduced me to his boss as his stepson. Until then, I had always thought, as did my other siblings, that we all had the same father. It’s not just knowing who your father isn’t but being the only one not knowing who he is. I never told my sisters and brothers about what our father, their father, had said. He had said it with such ease that the word stepson rolled easily out of his mouth you would have thought that I knew the secret, but I didn’t. Was this just a slip of his tongue, anxious to introduce me to his boss that he just misspoke?

It wasn’t until I got home and saw my brother and sisters that, for the first time in my life, I felt apart from them. They had no idea that I had been changed from a full-fledged brother to a half-brother in just a few words spoken to a total stranger.
I refuse to believe that what my now stepfather did was intentional. Although, he had no conversation with me about me before announcing it to the world. If he had done that, it would be mean and without reason, with no consideration for my feelings.
Over the years, there have been many instances that made me much more aware of how much I didn’t know about who I was.

There was a time when my uncle threatened to cut me with his pocket knife and my grandmother had to intervene to stop him; he yelled out at me, “I know who your father is.” My grandmother quickly shut the conversation down. There were other times when I was with my mother, people had walked up to us and asked if I was the son of, and before they had a chance to complete their question she would quickly and sternly interrupt them and give them my stepfather’s name instead. Their expression, when corrected by my mother, was one of confusion. They were part of a secret and didn’t know it.
The family dynamics never changed. I was still the big brother and saw no need to include them in the secret.
I was never close with my stepfather, even before I knew I was a secret. Knowing that he was not my real father made no significant change in my relationship with my brothers and sisters. But I did better understand why there had always been a feeling of distance I had always felt between me and my stepfather. I didn’t mind it however, he was not a good father. So it was no surprise that his death brought no great sorrow for me as his stepson. He had served in the military, and as with the military custom, the oldest living son is presented with the ceremonial flag. Up until my younger brother, his oldest son, accepted the flag, I thought no one in the family knew my secret. I watched for a reaction from the family as the flag was presented to my younger brother as to why he got the flag and not me. They knew. Everybody knew that I was not his son, I was not the big brother. There was no reaction from the family. It was as if the secret had been finally revealed.
You would think that the secret ended that day. That the mystery of who I was had been answered. Nothing could be further from the truth. I am 73 years old today and I carry the secret with me always.

By the time I had found out my birth father’s name, he had died. My mother also died shortly after his death, not, ever speaking to me about my father. My oldest living Aunt at the time, on her deathbed, told me his name. Like her, my other relatives who knew the when why, and where of the secret took it to their graves.
My birth certificate does not list my father’s name, as if I never had one. I cannot say not knowing my father has had any impact on my life, but being part of a mystery most certainly has.

Boom, boom, boom.
My heart took the lead,
Beating so hard it shook my wary voice when I went to speak.
My worst fears came true,
And suddenly this man became a man I thought I knew.
It’d been right all along,
This nagging inner voice telling me something was really wrong.
The voice that told my body to be on high alert,
To stop eating, stop sleeping,
Preparing for the impending hurt.
The pain that came wasn’t only about the betrayal, but also what all the lies that came to light had unearthed.
In the weeks and months that followed,
I was forced to pick up the pieces of my shattered heart,
And to reflect on the feelings and thoughts I had long since swallowed.
I had realized that the greatest betrayal I had suffered was not done by another at all.
It was me who caused the most hurt to myself,
It was me who orchestrated my own downfall.
I made up excuses, called myself crazy, and self-abandoned.
I kept quiet and told myself that what I already knew couldn’t have possibly happened.
As I sat in my grief,
I decided to allow it to change me.
I allowed it to seep into my veins,
Shake me to my core.
I invited it to lift the chains to my heart and show me all the wounds I had not healed before.
I wanted it to unleash the floodgates and bring the rain,
Wash out what no longer served me,
Wash out what could no longer remain.
If I were to heal from this,
I must heal from it all.
Everything that ever led me to believe I was unworthy,
Everything that ever made me believe that to be loved, I had to make myself small.
The decision to dive deep within,
To face the darkest parts of myself,
So much to uncover, not knowing where to begin, only knowing that my pain was demanding to be felt.
This decision alone unlocked the understanding and acceptance I’ve always searched for and made me finally see,
That to be truly seen and fully loved by another means I first need to truly see and love me.
And so I began,
I became my own best friend.
I indulged in things that awakened my soul,
Things like singing, dancing, and writing,
And I focused on the things only I could control.
I focused on changing the self-stories I lived by,
From discouraging and negative to ones that came from love and light.
I focused on holding myself in times of worry, sadness, and doubt,
Rather than running away from it all or giving that power to somebody else.
I now observe my thoughts as thoughts and acknowledge my feelings for what they are,
I connect peacefully with nature, and when my mind does wander, I don’t let it go far.
Now all the tears I cry,
Give water to the lush garden I’ve planted inside my mind.
Through the pain, I chose love instead of bitterness,
Love for myself and for others,
Trading resentment for forgiveness.
It’s been a journey, and it still is,
Learning to trust myself enough to get through all of life’s challenges.
Through it all,
I’ve come to know,
That it truly is a gift to feel such deep pain, love, loss, and sorrow.
I now more often choose to live my life through love instead of fear,
And when I choose this way,
My decisions become much more clear.
So now I thank life for giving me the gift of grief,
For it has taught me to always let my heart take the lead.

Chasing Rainbows after a Storm

January. The month in which almost everyone starts fresh, starts anew. A month of beginnings, declarations, and (sometimes) empty promises. My birthday month, which for me, means a good bit of happiness. Most social media feeds are filled with posts about people choosing a word that they are going to live up to for the year.
I remember it like it was yesterday. I didn’t make a formal declaration, but I promised myself that I would find my voice that year. A friend lovingly told me only a few months before that because of my personality, people were going to take advantage of me. I resolved to put an end to that.
What I didn’t know was that the events of the next eight weeks would literally define what it feels like to stand up for yourself and find your voice.
In my area of the country, January is one of those months where the promises of Spring collide with even colder temps to the point where one begins to wonder if we will ever thaw out. That January, I wasn’t looking for any and every sign of Spring. I was looking for and learning how to deal with a stalker.
The details are long and not really relevant, as the ending is and will always be the same: I was stalked by someone I considered a friend. I didn’t even realize right away that I was being stalked. And not only was I being stalked- I was being lied to, manipulated by, and isolated from our common acquaintances. Thankfully, the only physical toll that I experienced was a nice deep panic attack and the loss of sleep for a few nights. I am very lucky and grateful that it wasn’t much, much worse. However, the physical toll wasn’t the only one that I experienced. This affected me mentally, emotionally, and socially. I was constantly looking over my shoulder, afraid that this person would just pop up in my space. In all honesty, I felt more anxious when I was avoiding the person than I did while they were stalking me. It took me speaking up for myself, saying enough is enough, and asking for help from more than one person for it to end. I will forever be indebted to those who helped me end that situation, and for their swift and firm response. However, it took awhile for me to stop thinking that those who helped me saw me as weak because of that situation.
Throughout all of this, I learned that I don’t have to shoulder things alone. It’s ok to need help and to ask for it when it’s needed. I learned that finding my voice is a wonderful and powerful thing, but alas, with great power comes great responsibility. I had to choose my words and actions very carefully. When I spoke up and asked for help, I was initially presented with two options. I thought about it and chose the option that I would want that person to choose if our roles had been reversed. It seemed like the right thing to do. And once it was all over, that meant that as much as I wanted to follow the trends of putting this person who wronged me on blast on social media, I had to make another choice: Blast them and spend ten years in a court fight over libel allegations, or I could choose peace. I chose peace. Peace for myself, peace for everyone else this person victimized (and yes there were a few others), peace for everyone who helped me put an end to this situation. And hopefully, peace for the other person. That sounds strange, but honestly, unless that person has found or finds peace, someone else out there will be going through what I went through or worse. And I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
Choosing peace has helped me to see that you can go through the storm and come out the other side stronger, wiser, and better. You can let your voice be heard and be listened to. You can point out when wrongdoing is taking place, and enact change. Positive outcomes can come from negative beginnings, if you just have the courage to speak up and ask for help.
I would be lying if I said that in those harrowing moments I didn’t wish for something horrible to happen to that person because that would be what society has deemed appropriate justice. However, I eventually came to realize that Karma works on its own timeline. It will happen when it happens, not when I want it to happen. In the meantime, I will choose to be peaceful and hope that the other person has found peace as well.

Two years, two years, the battle I fought,

For a piece of my heart, a treasure I sought.

She left home as my little girl, pure and bright,

Now she’s a shadow, a flicker of light.

I only know her now through the posts that she shares,

Once, social media felt like a snare.

My heart aches as the days drift away,

Yet, with time’s gentle passage, I find less dismay.

I’ve seen her siblings be embraced by their baby sister,

Approaching two, she laughs and sings,

Unaware of the pain that her absence still brings.

Three children laugh, their laughter like song,

Their pieces together, where they all belong.

Yet deep in my heart, a truth I still see,

No matter the joy, I will always be missing a piece of me.

A piece of my soul was swept away,

Two years, two years,

He stole a piece that day.

I used to feel undesirable, like I was the end slice. I was passed by like those who blow right through the yellow light. Time and time again the ones who set my heart of fire, never saw me as the one that they desired.
“I’m unloveable, inadequate, who would ever want me?” Those were the words of my personal truth that were more deep-seated than the deepest sea.

On Valentines Day especially, I thought I would like a teddy bear, a rose, and hearing an, “I love you.” It’d be nice to add my name to a waiting list as a party of two.

Then, one day reality hit. I changed my thoughts, my ways, and rewrote the script. How could I expect to be loved by someone else if I did not even learn to love myself? I became my own lover. No, not like that. Get your minds out of the gutter. I just realized that self-pity was wack.

I’m my own Valentine. I don’t need a man to wine and dine. I take myself out, knowing that no matter what I do. I deserve to see and experience things I’ve always wanted to. I don’t need a better half, for I am whole. Keep your empty words, and trinkets. I’m worth more than gold.

“Oh, just one?” the host asks in a tone of voice as sad as he or she thinks I should be. “Just one” is plenty. A party of one is still a party; and, I can enjoy just being with me.

Remember these words when you too are down about not having a hand to hold. It truly is a choice whether or not you create your own solace in solitude, or a prison where you feel lonely and left out in the cold.

A gem that hasn’t been claimed or adorned, is still a gem nonetheless. Self love is a daily choice. It’s not easy, like Britney, I too must confess.

The reality of life is that many won’t always catch your vibes and want you by their side. However, there will be those who reciprocate and draw nearer. Overall, what matters most is that the one who knows your worth is the one looking back at you in the mirror.

Your journey through life was difficult, yet full of love, strength and hope.
The choice to hold on forever or let go was never in my power to decide..
You happened to be my gift, so delicately intertwined with strength and love.
Some pieces of me left with you on that fateful day, and some of you will forever remain in me.

Now, I write to mend my brokenness and find the courage to breathe again after you stopped.
That, sweet mom, seems almost impossible some days.
I have been given a burden that exceeds my strength and understanding.
How can I leave you behind when you never once left me?

This is our parting as mom and daughter, or at least how we always knew it.
Instead of walking side by side in this life, I now trust you to watch over my life while I live in the legacy of yours.
Death, love, and finality all have completely new meanings to me.
June the 9th will forever be etched in stone to create a final chapter to such a beautiful story.

Many days I feel the need to lay down my shield and surrender to the pain of grief.
Grief is not really a stage or stages for me, It is life’s harshest reality manifested into emotion- the loss of someone you love.
I will never be the same.
It is life-changing, but do I really want to be?

It feels like pain.
It feels like agony.
It feels like an aching hurt.
But, most of all, it feels so bad that it almost feels good. At least I am feeling at all.

The day you died mom, I found a new part of me called grief which carries a rawness of emotions all entangled with love, loss, and heartbreak.
Pain has silenced me on many occasions throughout this journey, and my sincere hope is for you to know I miss you and pray I am making you proud!

I cherish the words you left me in my letter; “Keep me in your heart and our love will last forever.”
Mom, my life has changed completely in a moment, but I choose to believe that the beauty of love does not have to be seen to be felt.
Peace will come, hope will endure, comfort will be found and love will remain.

You died today. You never even said goodbye before you left. Now, I am left here alone. How do I go forward in this physical plane without you? Life seems cold and stiff. What would the future hold without you? I am lost. You died today.
My physical senses must be off. The words I hear are foreign. They lack texture and the ability to paint a picture through their fluidity. The things I see are without shape. Color has lost its brightness. People appear muted and void of hue. There is an inability to communicate and speak clearly. You died today.
The road is coarser, even with appropriate tread. They no longer have direction. Landscapes no longer have horizons. The moon cannot rise, and the sun will never set again. You died today.
Plants no longer have roots and no way to thirst, hunger, or thrive. People are adult and ageless. Faces appear upside down.
Life is void of emotions. No love, no kindness, no depression, no anger. Is it not worse to be void of emotion than to be in anger? You died today.
No one will ever dance again. Lips of people will never touch. The touch between the two will never connect. Embraces have become non-existent. You died today.
I will continue to be in the physical reality. But when you died today, you took the best part of me. You took my heart.
Hope died today, and humanity has gone away, too.

On twenty four July of eighty five,
a Trailways bus I did ride,
the destination of Jackson [Basic Training],
a new life for me,

walking step by step,
running everywhere I go,
marching in unison,
a new life for me,

shining my shoes,
they sparkle in the light,
subject to inspection,
a new life for me,

carrying my weapon,
cleaning the firing pin,
to the range I go,
a new life for me,

riding cattle cars,
like a herd in summer heat,
shooting 300 meter targets,
a new life for me,

As I walk through the valley,
a evening prayer, Psalm’s 23: 4, I now pray,
resting before morning inspection,
a new life for me,

my journey, life direction a new,
physical training, much to do,
walking, running, marching,
is all a new life for me,

in 10 weeks,
a new bayonet I be,
soldier of fortune,
a new life for me!

Mother Mary Called to Me
by Amy Saxon Bosworth

One day you finally knew

House quiet dawn
Stopping to read the flyspecked curled paper pinned to the wall

You knew though the voices kept shouting bad advice

A fast shower then tugging clothes over your still damp body

Though the whole house began to tremble

In the gym locker room someone yelled get home fast

You knew what you had to do

Running on the icy parking lot
Skidding on the mountain roads

Though the wind pried

Door flung wide
You threw your body on your child
Taking the blows without flinching

And there was a new voice

Gathering quickly what you could
Clothes
Children
Your heart

And still Mary spoke to you

The poem ripped as it was pulled from the wall

As you strode deeper and deeper

800 miles of prayers and rage
Tears blurring the yellow lines
Bruises blossoming

Determined to do the only thing

Clutching the fragile paper in your fist
Beating the steering wheel

Determined to save the only life you could

And still she calls to me
In the early morning
Safe now she whispers

Cancer is never a word that anybody wants to hear.
And it comes with all sorts of baggage, like excessive worry and fear.
Nevertheless, for me, cancer served as a wake-up call.
Calling to my attention that I wasn’t resting at all.
Even though every cell was tired to its core,
Rarely did I ever let myself just rest and restore.

When I was first diagnosed with cancer,
I started searching for an answer.
Losing myself with each new issue,
Like surgeries, chemo, and scar tissue.

Now, I generally spend my days focused on myself,
Or working through all the books on my “to be read” shelf.
Through it all, I am pleased to say that I found my sense of self.

While I don’t have all the answers and all my thoughts still spin,
I know one thing for certain is that cancer will not win.
No, cancer will not win.