Writing Again - A look at my heart

My sister has been encouraging me to write tidbits of my life. The kind of stuff that has made me who I am, that has helped me grow, that has made me wiser, some of which I am often silent about.

I was reflecting last evening on why have not shared certain thoughts and feelings and experience, especially the painful ones, at least not in a serious, meaningful way. I realized, that although, I have told parts of some of my experiences, it has been in a trivial sort of story telling way.

I have not cared to tell much to people who are near and dear to me. Those trivialized experiences hold a great deal of weight inside of me, whereby, if I were to tell them them to someone who cared, I might cry. I hate crying!

As I reflected last evening on why I have never shared some of the painful experiences in my life, I concluded that I don't want people to know that I've been so deeply affected by them. I don't want to look like I'm insecure. I don't want to look like I haven't got life by the horns. Although, I'm sure it all shows as I don't hide that very well.

The fact is though, I AM deeply affected by painful experiences. I have convinced myself that it is better to keep them quiet. I have told myself both consciously and subconsciously that these things don't matter. They happened and there is nothing to be done so stuff it.

My mother-in-law recently said to me, “Julie, you have suffered a lot of losses, have you ever let yourself grieve?”

Ummmm, Uhhhhh..... I don't know. I cry by myself sometimes. I don't know how to grieve though because every time I cry, I look in the mirror and I see a red eyed, scarred face looking back and I often (cross that out), always tell that face audibly to “Stop it!! You make yourself ugly that way!”

That has been my way of dealing with pain for as long as I remember.

One day,

in college, my boyfriend just up and broke up with me the very evening that I was writing a letter to my parents to tell them that I had fallen in love with a most wonderful man and he with me (he had told me that he loved me only the day before). I was absolutely devastated. I cried, I looked in the mirror. I told myself to get a grip. I talked about it over and over to a sympathetic friend (nothing mean or angry just, “What did I do wrong?”), until one day, he was tired of it and said to me, “You know, you are becoming a very ugly person!”

I was struck dumb! I was hurt! I had never had anyone else tell that to me but it was like a light bulb went on in my head. I became silent. I walked to my room and looked in the mirror. He was right and I knew it. I had always told myself the same thing. I was Ugly when I showed my pain on the outside! It took me a few days but I eventually approached my dear friend again, and thanked him for helping me to see. It was true and I had always said so myself.

Never should I burden people with ugliness, Ever! Any pain I had, I would have to hide as well as I could. There was nothing to be done about it anyway, so why bother expressing it.

So, “Julie, have you ever grieved?”

No, I guess not. I don't know what that means. Honestly! What is a person supposed to do when they feel sad, angry, violated, upset? And so I'm embarking on a journey to learn. To express myself somehow without being ugly. I don't have the answers yet. Not even a clue.

I asked my dearest friend the other day, “What is grieving?” Her answer to me was, “I don't know, but I often wandered how you could go through trials that would devastate most but act like it doesn't matter”.

Well, it does matter. It matters lots! And so I'm going to tell you some of my experiences, not to be ugly, not to whine, not to show you the injustices of people who have hurt me (I will not name any names) but to simply share. To learn from them, to grow by them and away from them. To own up to the fact that I am affected by things but don't have to always and forever feel it.

God is leading me on a journey that I hope will help me, and maybe someone else who is in similar circumstances.

Pray for me because, as I share, the same words always come back to my mind. “This is stupid!” Ok, well, if it is, foolishness is mine. You can think of me what you will, but so is freedom to express myself and I think I will.