I share a lot, but I also keep a lot to myself. We all do.
We tend to only open up and share the great things about us with the world (our high light reel), but we so often keep our faults and battle wounds hidden. We share our best, most shiniest selves online and hide the stuff that may sully that projection. I understand why we do it. I catch myself (along with many others) doing it on Facebook, Instagram, on all types of social media, and even here. I’ve noticed how very tempting it has been to hide behind my blog and turn it into an on-going affirmation of what I want my life to be like, hoping that if I share only the good stuff, I can somehow make it real. Of course, I try and put a positive spin on the lessons life throws at me, but sometimes I get tired. I also get tired of always reading the happy posts that are currently rife in the blogosphere.
It’s not even that I’m envious of the people who apparently have the sun shining on them every day… They just don’t always connect to my understanding of the world: that there is rough as well as smooth, that sometimes rain is just depressing and grey rather than an opportunity to splash in the puddles before returning home for some hot chocolate and laughter with cherished loved ones – I go home shivering with frizzy, wet hair only to discover I left the bedroom window open and now my rug is soaked through. I guess I like my blog reading to occasionally have a bit of grit in it. It makes life more interesting and real. More relatable. It makes me feel less alone.
I’m as guilty as anyone of trying to portray the better part of myself online. However, this won’t be the case with my blog. I’ve noticed that everything I write about and reflect on helps me to heal…in more ways than one. I want some of my posts to shed light and give perspective to a lot of issues at which people like to stand from afar and point fingers without even trying to step into the shoes of the ones they are so quick to judge.
I’m certainly not suggesting that we only blog about our back pains, headaches, credit card debts, etc… I just think it’s important to keep it real. To share and possibly help others with what they may be going through. I want to share what my experience of the world is like…my whole experience. The good AND the bad.
So, today, I am choosing to share a piece of my background… a poem I wrote a long time ago about my stepdad who abused me when I was younger…
WHAT YOU DID TO ME
I was only eight when it all began
Late at night when I was alone,
Heard your footsteps down the hallway
What was coming was already known.
Alone in the darkness
And so afraid –
The plans you’ve made.
My heart started to race
Your hands so large compared to mine,
I couldn’t look you in the face
You had definitely crossed the line.
Often you betray
My loving mother,
When my body
Yours does smother.
I can feel the pain
And also the sorrow,
I don’t want to go on
So I pray for a better tomorrow.
It’s hard for me to cope
I’d like to run away,
In my heart I knew
That I couldn’t stay.
You said it was to show your love
By taking my body for your use,
But now I know that what happened to me
Wasn’t love; it was abuse.
All the dirty things you did to me
Won’t wash away with rain,
Nothing on earth will rid my heart
Of this never-ending pain.
That little eight year-old girl
Had to grow up way too fast,
All of the pain and hurt you’ve caused
Will always be remembered even when time’s passed.
I don’t remember my childhood like others do
When I think of my childhood I think of you,
I’m tired of you in my head every day
I wish you would just go away.
Your body is all I see
Your hands touching me,
You had a wife
Why couldn’t you just let me be?
The tears are coming
From all the damage you’ve done,
What do you want now
A round of applause?
I remember it like
It was yesterday,
Will I ever forget
And be okay?
I feel dirty, I feel low, I feel used
I’ll always know,
That I’m a victim
Of sexual abuse…
… Passing time dulls the ache
And clears the eye to see,
The problems you had back then
Belonged to you, not me.