In Which I Tremble and Tell the Truth

Graffiti

You know those times when everything is a battle that you've got no energy left to fight, and the little things are what threaten to push you over the edge?

That's where I'm living these days.

For the past two weeks, our sweet son has not slept more than a [small] handful of hours a night, with a few exceptions.  He is tired, and I am tired.

And then silly things happen, like this blog post disappearing after it was half written, and I just want to throw myself a nice little temper tantrum.

Let's just say that I'm learning how to let go.

And it's hard.  But good, and so needed.

Because I don't want my son to remember a mama who shamed him for spurting most of his newly introduced solid foods all over the kitchen and his high chair and himself.  Who was quick to snap a snarky comeback, or heap criticism upon criticism.

I want him to remember love.  I want him to remember a beautiful mess embraced.  I want him to remember his mistakes released and discipline that is fair and wise instead of destructive and demeaning.  I want him to remember the sanctity of his skin respected and the contents of his mind validated and grace upon grace upon grace.

Because that is what is right, and what he has a right to.  Because that is what preserves dignity and identity and a sense of self-worth.  Because that is what my True Parent has given me. 

And because I know what it feels like to live after twenty years of you are not good enough, you are bad, you are wrong messages, both spoken and implied.  Of the sacrificing of my fragile heart and God-made self at the altars of control and saving face.  Of the blows that I was told were tough love, deserved spankings, blows that were anything but. 

That photo is wrong.  I am not empty.  I am exhausted, yes, but not empty.  I am full -- of purpose, of determination to write a better story for my son than the one I lived.  Of trust that God will mend the gaps that I leave in my son's heart (may they be few and small).  Of hope that maybe He is sewing up the jagged wounds of my heart, too, stitch by stitch.

This is my truth, and my tired heart begs the telling of it.  And so I do.  Perhaps fatigue has made me brave.

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Today Jennifer over at Studio JRU is giving away one of my art prints (winner's choice) AND a copy of my artistic healing workbook, Life After Eating Disorder.  Enter here!
 
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