The Damaged’s Epiphany!

ouchDriving down the road all alone, the radio drumming silently in the background, the rain slamming against the glass of the windshield… it creates the perfect environment for self reflection, huh?

I guess I used to feel like Father Time was as blind to my existence as I was to his–ah, youth–and while I’ve been paying attention to Father Time for quite some time now, it wasn’t until quite recently that I spotted Father Time noticing me back. It doesn’t feel like he’s knocking on Death’s door and pointing his wrinkled finger my direction, but he did pause in the crowd of souls, looked me in the eyes and winked. This has gotten me to thinking a little more often than I once did about what I have/n’t done with my life.

Damaged… I think I’ll always be damaged. I’m not the only one out there. My best friend is one of the Damaged as well. One of the results of being damaged is that I seem to have difficulty in completing stories. Let’s be honest, it’s more than stories. However, the thing pressing harder on my mind is writing.

I’ve never completed a single story I started.

So, what’s my hang-up? Fear of failure, fear of success? These two things haven’t really made a lot of sense to me and didn’t feel like either were my personal hang-up. These are the two usual suspects though… aren’t they? So, I keep examining these two fears trying to figure out which is mine, cause if I know what it is I might be able to step down a path to fixing myself.

Today, for whatever reason, I had an epiphany! It’s not really either.

I don’t want to be defined by my mistakes.

Yep! That’s the thought that smashed it’s way through the calm of my afternoon drive to my kids’ school. I had no idea I even felt this way until today. Childhood taught me that people simply will not recognize my efforts let alone my successes; I will only be seen for my failures and mistakes.

Wait! Huh? What does that mean? Come on self, explain this one.

Here is a seemingly simplistic childhood memory, yet in it’s simplicity it screams it’s complexity. A young child makes a spur of the moment choice to surprise mom and dad by cleaning the living room without being asked. The child simply wants to do something to please the parents. The child works hard, in her/his perception of things, and waits excitedly for the parents to come notice. In walks dad or mom. The child exclaims ta-da! then waits for the parent to be pleased.

“You missed a spot,” the parent responds pointing to an itty-bitty fleck of something on the carpet, then leaves the room.

When you grow up feeling that no matter how hard you try to do something positive, others will only notice the negative and you begin to feel that there is no point to even trying. That feeling will become worse. It divides itself, finds places to implant and grow, divide again and send its spawn off to other places in your soul to spread it’s infestation.

I don’t want to be seen for my mistakes. Failure does come into play but it is not a fear of failure. Everyone will fail. There isn’t a single perfect person out there and we will all fail at something, sometime. That’s okay. This is different. It has warped itself so many times. Being seen for my mistakes is just the beginning. It’s the top layer of the many issues that suffering a childhood of neglect, emotional abuse and bullying causes.

Another issue: All I can see are my own mistakes. There’s layer two. Thanks to the top layer, this is my second layer. Nothing is ever positive. Everyone in my life can tell me different, but it is so painful to never feel like I can ever do anything right. There’s always a mistake. There will always be a fleck on the carpet that I missed. My cookies will always be too dry, too crumbly, or too… something. My meals will never be good enough. I love to crochet, but that will never, ever be good enough either.

My writing will always be mediocre. Worse than mediocre. A 4th grade child would be able to write better than I can. I have no talent, no skill and zero ability to ever be good enough at anything… so why finish?

Why start? Well, writing is an addiction. It always has been and probably always will be. I think about writing constantly. I think about characters, plots, stories, worlds, words, sentences, even grammar!

The thing that sucks about this epiphany is I don’t know that it’ll help a single thing. So I know a little more now what the problem is. Great! But, I worry I could be permanently damaged. Hopefully Father Time will be kind and give me just a little less attention for a bit longer.

I won’t give up! I’ll keep trying because I love what I do. I just wish I could see and believe what I see in myself the way others around me do.

(This has been hard for me to share, but I doubt I’m the only one out there that has been hurt this way, and I’m sharing this publicly with hopes that someone will someday stumble upon it and know that they aren’t alone.)



Wishing on a Star


“Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight.” I paused and opened my bedroom window. The night breeze caressed my hair with those warm, end-of-summer scents. With my eyes scrunched closed, I jabbed my finger out the window at the sparkling sky, opened my eyes and focused hard on one of the glittering spots I was pointing to. “I wish I may, I wish I might have this wish I wish tonight.”

Drawing my chest tight, I held my breath as I offered my wish to the cosmos.

I wish with every fiber of my being that I’ll meet a guy that’s right for me; Looks aren’t really important, but slightly curly hair would be cute but what is important is he needs to be caring, sensitive, and gentle. It’d be great if he likes reading. Most important though is that I can bring him to my grandma and he’ll treat her as the angel she is. I want my life to change. Star bright, this is my wish tonight.

I blew at the sky like I was blowing out birthday candles as I sent my wish into the air. I crawled into bed, tugged my ragged teddy into my arms and stared at my winking wishing star until I fell asleep. As I watched the sky, I had started feeling silly for making a star wish. Only little kids wished on stars, right? What I couldn’t¬† have known was that my sixteenth birthday wish would ¬†irrevocably change my life.



Ouch! That hurt.

ouchIt started innocent. I rarely share any “status updates” on FB unless I am posting something about one of my kids (for family members to read). We had something unexplainable happen in the middle of the night though, so I posted quick about it.

One recently recovered childhood friend commented that I should think about writing. My husband responded with some glowing praise. Another dear friend of mine responded with, “I have wanted her to be a writer sense I have known her. Still waiting………”


I know she didn’t mean for that to hurt but considering how long we’ve been friends… guess the truth hurts, huh? We’ve known one another for around 16 years.

What have I done with 16 years? I’ve done what most mommies do… I made my life my children’s and my family’s. At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself. Is that entirely true?

Being honest with myself is the hardest truths to admit to. I’ve always wanted to write and have tried. I find so many reasons though to not finish a darn thing I start though. There are so many reasons. *points back to an older article called Damaged*

I’ve started writing again. I don’t know if I can run fast enough this time to get passed my emotional hang-ups, but we’ll see.

For anyone out there that hears those demons whispering nasty words to destroy your efforts, I understand and send you a hug!