Today is the day I start my blog. I don’t know what has taken me so long to get it started. It really isn’t about all the laundry I have, or errands I need to run. Those are just excuses. So I look deeper. Perhaps it’s a confidence issue. What do I possibly have to say that people might want to read? And then it hit me. I am not necessarily writing this for other people. I first and foremost write for myself. Journaling is a powerful healing tool, and I plan to take advantage of this zero-expense method of self-healing.
I’ve had a pretty great life. Anyone who knows me may wonder, “What the ‘H’ is going on with her? Why does she think she has a need for so much self-healing? Her life has been a bed of roses!” Well, maybe not that last part—we all have our “stuff” to deal with, but you get the picture.
The thing is, I give a pretty decent outward appearance, I say so somewhat modestly. I always have. Today, at 50 years of age, my outward appearance reflects what I feel inside fairly accurately. I am pretty darn content with my life, I border on happy on occasion, and I laugh way more than I used to. My family is awesome, I live in a beautiful climate, I not only know what I want to be when I grow up, I am actually doing it, and I am thankful for everything I have.
10 years ago, I looked better. Who doesn’t look a bit better at 40 than at 50? However, my outward appearance did not look anything like what I was feeling inside. I felt I was dying physically, emotionally, and spiritually. No one other than my husband, our families and close friends knew. To everyone else, I seemed pretty ok. I was a decent actress.
Today I end with this thought. I try to give people the benefit of doubt. They may be driving like total nuts. They might be dropping kids at events and taking off, leaving their young kids unattended, even though (in my judgy opinion) it is not a good idea. These people may look really good, and appear to be selfish. I try not to judge. I remember how I looked pretty ok, but was a mess inside. I remember how apathetic I must have seemed, being the only mom who never volunteered in my kids’ classes. I couldn’t cope. Maybe the aggravating people I run into are having coping issues as well. I try to give a silent blessing, wishing the people and their children safety to their destinations, and peace in their lives. And the most interesting part of this practice is that I rarely get upset by anyone (outside the family 😉 anymore. Compassion feels so much better than anger.
My journaling will be about whatever strikes my fancy, but it will include different ways I have found to heal. I hope some of my experiences can help others, but acknowledging what I have gone through, honoring myself by reliving my experiences and seeing how far I’ve come, is equally important.