A lifetime ago, I spent each and every day just trying to find ways to survive the abusive living situation I was in that threatened me not only physically but also mentally and emotionally. There were times I didn’t think I’d make it—many, in fact. Still other times, I hoped I wouldn’t, unable to bear the thought of another minute, day, month or year of the abuse. But digging deep, deeper than I thought possible, I somehow managed to pull through. Make it to the other side. Extricate myself from that living nightmare and begin my own life, one void of the abuse, negativity and intense hatred that had always been openly directed towards me.
I got out, began my own life, and like most, lost myself somewhere along the way of becoming a wife, mother, soccer mom, Girl Scout leader, Cub Scout leader, room parent, PFA President, etc. I allowed myself to get overwhelmed and dragged down in the swirling storm of chaos and drama that always seemed to surround me.
And then one day, the light bulb went on. Of course, by then, my kids had grown considerably and were all self-sufficient, allowing me a little bit of time to actually pause long enough to ask, “Who am I? What’s my purpose in life? Am I on track to obtain my goals or just serve the ones of others?”
It was then that I saw how things really were. That I’d allowed my life to turn completely upside-down and inside-out, with no time dedicated to me, my every waking moment spent serving the wants, needs and desires of others. In that moment of clarity, I realized that I was again caught up in a vicious cycle that was tearing me down, different, but in many ways just as destructive to my character as when I’d been abused all those years earlier.
And so I took back control of my life. Well…first, I had to find my life. Identify if I even had one outside the parameters of being a wife and mother and the plethora of other hats I wore, seamlessly removing one to be replaced with another, but none of which addressed what I needed, much less might want.
Taking control meant retraining those in my innermost circle that I now valued myself as a viable person, worthy of respect not only from others but more importantly from myself. And to prove that, I acted upon such, carving out little niches of time for my own needs. And the biggest change was when I resumed my writing career, a passionate dream I’d clung to for over twenty years while raising my family and standing by my husband as each of them rose to their potentials.
About halfway through writing my first published book, Little Girl Lost, I realized that I needed to set up a website where I could write a blog. Studying the sites of others, I was puzzled to learn that they only blogged every few days or once a week—sometimes less. I couldn’t imagine restricting myself to those parameters. After all, I had all the “stuff” bottled up in be from several decades of not being able to share, and I needed to it all get out. I wanted to share my discoveries with others. I hoped to create a place where readers could come and view optimistic words that might make them laugh, cry or ponder things on a deeper level.
And so began this daily blog, a silly thing that means the world to me. It allows me to connect with others that I might not have otherwise, often learning as much from them as they do from me. This blog allows me to stand triumphantly atop my “mountain” and shout for all the world to hear (or at least the ones who come here to read) how one small beaten down individual—me—can overcome abuse that often broke her and came dangerously close to wiping her from the face of the earth—on several occasions.
The thoughts I share here, I do with the greatest hope that someone—anyone—might be able to connect. That my words might give them that one…small grain of hope that I would have given the world to have been offered back when. I’m still standing, taller and better than ever before, and with any luck, I’m creating a wake of followers who have benefited from my thoughts.
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