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.
Frontrunner to Treehouse
4 days ago