Looking Back At Where I’ve Been
Lately I’m getting more and more comments about what I’m putting on this page. For the most part, they’re positive, especially the ones I get face to face. I started this journey in early 2009; a time when I was lonely, angry, and crouching miserably behind walls of my own making. As far as I knew, the last person who cared whether I lived, got up in the morning, or died was getting ready to move out, though as it happens, her actual departure occurred a couple of years later. Still, the rift between us was growing.
Yet in spite of our arguments and an inability to see eye to eye on many things, my daughter Heather encouraged me to do something she knew gave me pleasure, but was a gift I seldom gave myself.
If Not For Heather, You Wouldn’t Be Reading This
It was Heather who not only convinced me to start a blog but helped me set it up. Heather nagged and prodded until I agreed to spend a long Mother’s Day weekend in Sedona. And Heather helped launch a memoir which would take me on a journey of brutal honesty, but more importantly, a healing I wasn’t aware I needed.
There have been stumbles along the way, like having her find out about my mom’s and dad’s suicides from my blog (I truly thought by then she knew), or months on end when posts were sporadic at best. But overall, I know without her help and encouragement, I’d never have started writing again; started breaking down the walls; learning how valuable and uplifting vulnerability can be.
Healing My Wounds A Thousand Words At A Time
Each post I write these days is a testament to the progress I’ve made and the wounds I’ve healed thanks to a daughter who knew instinctively what I needed when I myself was oblivious (a state I’ve found myself in at many critical junctions). Without realizing it, she taught me the value in reaching out to others, not necessarily intending to help them. Instead, she taught me to let people know I was far from perfect and that my life had taken a few dramatic, traumatic twists and turns. In other words, there were times I was the one who needed help, even if I couldn’t or wouldn’t ask.
I won’t say I wasn’t terrified at first. But it was also getting harder to hide the cracks in my masks, so ripping the band aid off didn’t seem so bad once I was a few years into digging up the old feelings and memories. The responses I got have been unexpected to say the least.
When I first started talking openly about my parents’ suicides, I admit I was prepared to shut down again quickly if the responses were the expected horror and shock. Instead, I heard from friends and acquaintances who’d also lost someone to suicide. It seemed I’d opened a door we all needed opened, but hadn’t the courage, or perhaps the foolhardiness to open it ourselves. Knowing people were out there who understood what we’d been through and how hard it was to find anyone to listen while we talked felt like a huge boulder being removed from our shoulders.
Attracted By Common Wounds, Connected With Our Hearts
Making that tiny chink in my facade caused a ripple effect, changing the tone of my blog posts, opening my eyes to possibilities about my parents’ deaths, but best of all, allowing me to start releasing the guilt I’d been carrying for nearly 2 decades and beginning to heal. Until that point, I think I was simply rehashing the past. Discarding the first chapter of my memoir and doing a complete re-write is evidence that what I was feeling and believing when I first started writing has undergone a massive restructuring in recent years.
I know I still have a long way to go but being open and honest, allowing people to see my wounds and scars has brought an entirely new family into my life. I now have people who grieve with me when I lose a cherished pet, check on me regularly, encourage me with my writing, and are simply there for me, no questions asked. I’ve never had that before. Not because these people weren’t there, but because I wasn’t letting anyone in.
Alone But Never Lonely Any More
For years I watched friends connect, getting together outside of dancing to engage in other social activities. My social life was dancing. I showed up alone and went home alone. I sat in front of the TV on nights I wasn’t dancing, or played games on the computer. Occasionally, I read something from my extensive and ever-growing library, but mostly, I was a lump.
I got no exercise outside of my regular dance nights. I ate whatever sounded good, or what was easy to grab. I was angry at the world except when I was dancing.
In a way, that life is a good thing as it reminds of how much I never want to go back there. And I look at my sister. We haven’t spoken in several years now, and the occasional overture she makes to reopen a conversation meets with firm rebuttal. It’s not that I don’t love her. But I’ve learned I can’t allow someone who finds joy in misery back in my life. She’s living a life I wouldn’t wish on anyone, but frankly, she was embittered long before she became ill.
Learning It’s OK To Walk Away From Toxic Relationships
I know she’s in contact with the rest of my estranged family, so I know she’s not alone, and find some comfort in knowing someone will be there when her needs become critical. Even my youngest daughter seems to have found a common ally, so I hope she offers a little of her time too.
This sounds like a ramble, but there truly is a point. There are members of my blood family from whom I’ve had to disconnect for my own sake. The disconnections seem to follow the same timeline as the one which connected me to a large family who isn’t related by blood, but which cares about the members as if we were. It appears that when I started realizing it was OK to be me and stop worrying about whether or not people would like that person, I started shedding those who expected things from me I wasn’t really prepared to give, and gained those who expected nothing, and gave because they cared.
It took me far too long to learn to be myself; damn the torpedoes, and full speed ahead. But since I’ve found the way, I have a lot to look back on to remind me I never need to hide my beautiful, imperfect, lumpy, unique self again.
Grateful for Every Single Minute
My gratitudes today are:
- I am grateful for the friends who are family and show me their love in so many ways.
- I am grateful I finally learned vulnerability is a good thing.
- I am grateful for the love and compassion I see every day in friends, in strangers, and in me.
- I am grateful for all the healing I’ve done so far, and the healing yet to come.
- I am grateful for abundance; love, friendship, support, encouragement, opportunities, new horizons, dancing, health, peace, harmony, philanthropy, and prosperity.
Love and Light
About the Author
Sheri Conaway is a writer, blogger, ghostwriter, and advocate for cats. Sheri believes in the Laws , of Attraction, but only if you are a participant rather than just an observer. Her mission is to Make Vulnerable Beautiful and help entrepreneurs touch the souls of their readers and clients so they can increase their impact and their income. If you’d like to have her write for you, please visit her Hire Me page for more information. You can also find her on Facebook Sheri Levenstein-Conaway Author or in her new group, Putting Your Whole Heart Forward