I’ve been locked in since I returned from Charleston. I’ve been sick with allergies and because I’ve been under the weather, I’ve taken full advantage of my lockdown and have worked diligently on my memoir.
I’ve struggled with writing my memoir for many reasons but mainly because it’s painful. It’s painful to say what happened to me. It’s equally as painful to say what I had to do to survive. As I write it, tears stream because I often think “I can’t believe, I allowed this.” It’s as though I’m not even writing about my life. And while struggling with my pain this week, I saw this picture on social medía and it spoke to me. It spoke to me so loudly that I printed it out and put it on my refrigerator. I want to see it and keep it as a constant reminder that it’s time to forgive myself.
I often think it’s easier to forgive others than to forgive ourselves. We allow guilt and shame for things we had to do to survive. Maybe that’s why we bury so much and can’t let go of it because we are just not ready to forgive ourselves. If God can forgive us and it’s forgotten then why can’t we do the same?
I’m healing, it’s messy and maybe one day I might just make it to that promised land of “healed”. In the meantime, I’m going to keep trying, keep writing, and keep forgiving myself for doing the things I had to do to survive.