Begin, somewhere. Do it scared and messy.
I flew into Roanoke, Virginia with an internal boundary that I would not stay up until 3 in the morning with them this time - that I would not indulge in the co-remembering that always left my body shaking, mind racing, and heart aching. I am still determined to have life be about the here and now and to abandon the stains of childhood pain. I wanted this sister trip to be different. But when my sister-mom revealed another revolting layer of her childhood, my growing rage sat down, almost calmly, with popcorn in hand. An opportunity to shift the narrative that I could do nothing - that acceptance and silence were the gracious way to process pain. An opportunity to change my response to be commensurate with my values of openness, responsibility, and authenticity of expression. A recommitment to not hide, even when the faults are my own. I’ve written and blogged about my family before throughout different phases of my personal development and healing; I’ve kept diaries and journals for m...