Old me would have a lot of judgement and criticism for current me to handle. Current me would have to sit her down and help her understand how things unfolded. She’d probably fall off her chair. I imagined old me sending a letter to current me and then turning up at the door.

Letter from a Former Self
Good morning, it’s been a minute.
I hope you are aware,
Those ideas you had were fine like china teacups-

What was that? Sit a minute? Sure. Maybe we can have a little tea;

Do you remember the time Mrs. Wright gifted us an entire set, with the blue flowers around the rim?

Do you still like teacups like that?

What color did we finally paint our kitchen?

Do you still like handmade toys and long walks with ice cream cones at the end?

Did we stay the course or bail on the grumpy hubby? Of course we stayed. How many prayers did it take? I can see something finally worked, you look content. So he must have stopped with the shoving and choking and all that.

What devotionals do we like lately?

How many languages do we speak these days?

Did the kids go to college?

Style score 100%

In 2013, something horrid happened to me. It didn’t happen to just me, or affect me the most. It was a betrayal that left me and my children unsafe.

For years, I disregarded how this affected me as I focused on how it affected others I love. How it affected me became a small side story. So, for years, I didn’t bother acknowledging my personal hurt. I had huge obligations to assist others through their journey toward ok-ness. Those others are my children.

What happens then, if there is no ok-ness for me? I’m about to tell you.

The first thing was tears. It was about ten months of tears every night. By myself, alone. For all of us. In waves. During the day, I was raising kids. At night, I was grieving my wounds and losses.

Next came denial. Maybe we can live with this? After all, we aren’t dead and it’s surely been misery, but what’s the way out of misery? Others I loved chose denial, and it seemed to work for them. Some who got hurt are still using denial to cope.

One day, like a lifting fog, I realized denial costs too much. Almost immediately, intense anger replaced my denial.

It’s exhausting to be perpetually angry. Being the body of all-consuming anger is only useful if it leads to justice, and, sadly, it didn’t.

Numbness replaced the anger. God faded into meaninglessness. Emotions faded from red to pastel pink. The duty to continue to exist remained, and that was all I could manage.

For years.

For a decade.

I became a pale version of myself. I could function, raise kids, held down a complicated job. I paid my mortgage and took showers and cooked meals and taught my kids skills to live. Kind of.

If I could have been a better version of myself, I could have taught them more than the bits I managed. I guess I taught them to persevere. The struggle became normal. I thought I had pulled it off, this existing after horror gig. I believed I had healed. What I had actually done was to mute emotions and function in logic as a self protective mechanism. It was very effective; I felt functional. I had emotions, I just vetted them. Numbness was surviving. I felt safe enough to go on.

It took 11 1/2 years for me to fully face my healing. Finally, I could leave safe logic and dulled existence on the table to pursue a little authentic joy.

At first it was scary to feel emotions with some intensity. Emotions can lie! Slowly I let them lead me to some old loves: baking, drawing, building, painting, sewing, exploring, dancing, writing. Can I do it? For myself? And can I survive feeling it? Can I forge trusting relationships with others? Can I trust myself? The world is again wild with color, after so many years of color washed out by pain. Will I choose healing or familiar pain?

Not every day goes too well. Some days I retreat. This healing journey will take more time. But now, instead of hiding behind logic, I use creativity to process life, to feel myself heal, to be alive.

This is like waking from a trance. It is stepping back into my authentic self after an absence.

It is nice to recognize the person inside; although I am much older and much more worn, I have a hard fought value. I am here.

Style score 100%

Heartbreak
Is everywhere like dropped dishes
She sits and sips her coffee
Appears calm and composed
Amid the shattered glass that today was, figuratively speaking
This time

She looks through her memory of today
And finds the pieces of porcelain that have pretty filagrees and bits of flowers
To laugh if she can
She looks aside from the pieces
To see what is not broken
Fixes her eyes on what is whole and real and doing well
She clutches those things in her hands
She has to be careful not to grasp them too tightly
In case even that
Were broken.

She waters plants
She sings songs
She breathes cold air
She plans a garden
She plans a project bigger than this day
She shops for dishes
She is defiantly hopeful

The church ladies said “what a devoted mother”
The neighbor said “your so busy all the time”
Truly
She’s running from one moment to the next preventing disasters & providing cues.
She:
Hugs this child and hopes it is somehow healing to them both
He:
Stares out a window quietly
No words
He is a mystery
Hope is present like a cat that doesn’t like attention.
She is sure
Today was “not that bad”
Brave face to the moon
She is sure
Another day will come
Soon enough.

My goals in 2025 include healing and allowing myself to move forward. Here is my poem of hope.

Can you take an axe
A pick or a maul
And hollow a space in the stone the width and breadth of two
And I will use the hand plane and the lumber and I will use bolts and braces
To fashion a door for the hollow
Latch it
Strongly.
Once we are both inside,
And the world is fully outside
We will cry the racking sobs that have nowhere else to go
Held back fourteen years and some
Odd months or so
When we emerge
You will be iron and I will be alloy
And the sun will warm us
And can you
If you are able
Undo the lashings holding this pack
It is heavily filled and spills over
With sorrow and regret
Causing me to stoop
Can you if not such an imposition
If you have the strength
Help me drop it in the river
Then
We will build a table of oak and maple
And we will set it with all good things
And eat our fill of it
Til joy happiness mirth and innocence
Are the only things we can hear ringing in the forest