Something really beautiful and magical has been happening around here. For the longest time, maybe most of my life, I had no memories of my life before 6th grade. I would have a flash here and there, I do not even remember going to Disneyland in 2nd grade even though I was the only one in my family who got to go and it would have been a huge deal.
When things with my family came to a head last year, I finally started to have memories. Only, it was more like walking in to a really horrifying movie you could not run out of than anything else. The memories made me angry. It explained all the rage that would sometimes bubble up and I would have to hold back from spewing all over my kids.
I kept moving forward, kept rethinking my perspective. I challenge myself daily to find compassion for my mom. Even as I no longer have contact with her.
Last week, Ari asked me to tell her a story about when I was little. I looked in my memory and there were stories there. Happy ones, funny ones, silly things we did, how goofy I was, so much material locked a way for so long. My mind took all those years and locked the filing cabinet. When I was willing to face the shitty stuff the other stuff came back too. I even have one very fond memory of my mom from a Christmas when I had to have been in 5th grade or so. This is actually the most wonderful thing because all my memories of my mom are so dark. I can pull that memory from my head and realize that my mom is human, capable of both kind and unkind acts just like the rest of us.
His Own Bed
19 hours ago