My Journey in healing

The Calm Before Tonight the sky put on her Sunday best, Cotton-candy clouds and honeyed gold, Like she didn’t hear the whispers Of sleet sharpening its teeth for morning. The sun dipped low, slow as a farewell hug, Painting peace across the holler, And if you didn’t know better You’d swear nothing bad ever finds beauty. But tomorrow... Tomorrow comes heavy. Ice on the lines, snow in the ditches, Four or five days of the world holding its breath, Bracing for the crack and the break And the way silence can turn loud real quick. Funny thing is; That’s how my life used to be. Pretty sunsets fooling folks into thinking I was fine, When storms were already packing their bags inside me. I lived waiting on the other shoe, Flinching at stillness, Because calm felt like a lie I hadn’t earned yet. Peace was too quiet. Too exposed. But not anymore. Now I stand on the porch and watch the sky blush, Tea gone cold in my hand, And I don’t beg the storm to pass me by. I tip my head, say yes...

Well, here we go again. That time of year where the air gets colder, the days get shorter, and my mind starts waging war on me. Seasonal depression — that uninvited guest that never fails to show up no matter how much I try to lock the damn door. And wouldn’t you know it, just when I thought I had my peace in check, someone had to come along and hit a nerve. One little trigger, and suddenly all those memories I thought I buried deep came flooding back like a busted dam. I swear, it’s like Pandora’s box flew open and dumped every hurt, every heartbreak, and every ugly scar right at my feet. But you know what’s different this time? I’ve got the right kind of people in my corner now. See, in the past, folks loved to play “therapist” — they’d make me open up, spill every dark, painful piece of my past, and then when things got too real, they’d run off and leave me standing in the ashes of my own mess. Like they poured gasoline on my pain and lit a match just to watch it burn. Not this time...

I used to imagine a life filled with warmth, stability, and love. A life where I’d grow up with my mother by my side, cheering me on at school plays, brushing my hair, telling me I was safe. I expected to fall in love and be loved back, genuinely, completely. I imagined being the kind of mother who tucked her kids in every night, whose laughter echoed through the home she built, where joy was the background noise and peace was the norm. I thought life would be hard at times, sure, but never like this. Never the kind of hurt that leaves you questioning your worth, your sanity, your will to live. I never expected to be handed loss before I could fully understood the definition of the word. I never expected to carry so much grief that it silenced my inner child before she had a chance to fully live. I never expected to have my innocence stolen in the most violent ways, by hands that should have protected me. I never thought I’d look into my children’s faces one day and feel the unbearable...

My head and my heart… they haven’t agreed in years. My head tells me to move on. To let go. To protect my sanity. But my heart? My heart still rocks two babies to sleep every night in my memories. It still hears “Mama” echoing down empty hallways. It still believes in reunions, in redemption, in miracles. But it’s tired. God, it’s so tired. There are moments, quiet ones, haunting ones, where I’m hit with the memories. A laugh. A smell. A song. And suddenly I’m back there, with Brian and Kayla as babies. Holding their tiny hands. Kissing scraped knees. Telling them I’d always protect them. Always. But I couldn’t. They were stolen from me, not by death, but by lies. Twisted words. Misleading reports. People who never knew my heart, yet held my fate, and theirs, in their hands. People who convinced the world, including my children, that I was someone to fear… not someone who loved them more than life itself. I was inches away from bringing them home. Inches. Then it was all ripped away......

I didn’t expect to lose my mother when I was just 9. I didn’t expect to be assaulted—verbally, physically, emotionally, and sexually—almost daily. I didn’t expect my first marriage to fall apart. I didn’t expect to have my older two kids ripped away from me because of false accusations involving my husband and my girlfriend. I never imagined living on the streets. I never thought the woman I trusted—my girlfriend—would leave me and my younger two children in a homeless shelter. And I never expected to reconnect with my daughter, only to have that fragile bond destroyed by her mother-in-law. But you know what else I never expected? I never expected to begin healing from the hell I’ve lived through. Never expected to find encouragement from others when I finally started walking the right path. Never expected to look past everything I’ve been through—and love someone so deeply that I’m ready to marry him. Never expected to love myself. And never, not in a million years, did I expect to be...

It's that time of year again, Mom. That day... the day everything in my world shattered.... it's creeping up again, and no matter how much time passes, it never gets easier. It's been 37 years since you left, and yet the pain is still as sharp as it was when I was 9. You were my whole world, and when you left, a part of me died with you. I’ve been walking through life like a ghost, just a shell of who I used to be. You took my light, my laughter, my sense of safety. The little girl I was disappeared that day, and I’ve spent all these years trying to make sense of it, trying to pick up pieces that never quite fit back together. There are so many things I wish I could have said to you. So many hugs I never got to give. I’ve needed you more times than I can count. Through every heartbreak, every dark night, every quiet moment when all I wanted was a mother’s love—you weren’t there. And that absence has been louder than anything else in my life. I forgive you, Mom… ...