Tuesday, April 23, 2013
The Hardest Post to Write
Blanche and I went up to northwest Missouri to visit my family all last week and weekend. I feel like once again I meant to take more pictures, but resorted to using my phone a lot of the time. I guess the fact that I normally have a baby in my hands when taking pictures can be a good excuse. So, until I become strong enough to go without an iPhone, remember that you can always click the blue camera button on the side of my blog to see my instagram. I captured several good pictures. One of my grandmother that I love. So, feel free to browse that page.
I guess I picked up my camera during the trip when I saw a moment I wanted to remember. Because thats how pictures work. One day, maybe ten or fifteen years from now, I will remember this trip in my mind within these few pictures. Maybe I will also remember something profound, a conversation, or something funny that I tell people who ask how my trip went. The thing I wish though, is that even though I took pictures of the happiness, that I could convince myself by looking back at these photographs that happiness is all there is when it comes to going home.
I constantly struggle with how I should write this blog. I hate when people are fake. I don't want my blog to just be a constant happy wrap up of all things in my life. I told Andrew that I wanted to start this blog to practice my writing and to become a step closer to knowing what it would look like to write a memoir. But its hard to write open and honestly about one's life. Because it involves other people. I've always leaned more toward the side of respect and harmony. But lately I've felt like my life (and even more so my past) is being erased in doing so. I read a quote a couple of weeks ago and it stuck with me,
"You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should've behaved better." - Anne Lamont
Now this doesn't mean that I feel I have the permission to write dirt on all of my family. Because we all have dirt. We are all pretty messy people. And I know I have never appreciated anyone pointing out my mistakes for the sake of just pointing them out.
But I want to be honest. Sometimes going home can really suck. I took pictures of the happy parts because I love my family with all my heart. I miss them every day. I long to be closer to them. I have fun with them when I am home. But there is brokenness. And I guess I'm tired of pretending there isn't. I'm not pointing my finger to anyone and saying that its someones fault. Its everyones fault. We are all guilty. I just wish that full redemption would take place, but I know that it may be later than now.
I think a big part of healing one's self is to admit how we feel. With divorce and remarriage there is so much entanglement and history that sometimes I feel I can barely say who my parents are without offending someone. But I need to write this for myself. Not to shame my parents, not to say who was right or who was wrong. But to simply say that it makes me sad that my parents marriage ended. It makes me so sad. This doesn't' mean I don't love my step mom dearly (she is the best I could ask for) or that I wish things could be changed tomorrow. I don't. Because what is done is done. And you can't take the past into the future. All you have tomorrow is tomorrow.
I think I have realized that I need to admit and accept that I hate the fact that my parents marriage ended. And then accept that it has. And then move on.
I have always felt like divorce is a very hard thing for a child because it feels like someone is trying to erase you. The love that created you is no longer. This is what makes me cry. That there was once something so beautiful that it made me. And now it is no longer.
But what I have to realize is that I am here. And I am a sign that no matter what has happened or will happen, that the love my parents had at one point in life was real. And thats enough. That love has changed into both of my parents loving each of us kids with all their hearts. They would die for us. I know they would. And that love is what is beautiful and can be focused on. Divorce is messy and awful and I would never wish it on anyone. Because the fact is, even at almost 27 years old, I am a child of divorce, and I still cried to my husband when I came home. And out of respect for myself, I am admitting how I feel. And now I am moving forward. And I can look at these pictures and be happy. I can know that I have a mom who loves me. And a dad who loves me. And a step mom who loves me. I have so much family that would do anything for me. That is where my focus needs to be.
I know sometimes my blog is about granola, or homemade deodorant. Now all of the sudden I just got real. I guess I want to be real. I want whoever is out there reading along to know my life isn't just about granola. Its about pain and heartache at times. I use writing as a way to process and heal, and I hope my writing can do the same for others.