December 2018

It takes a lot of courage. I hand over the pages. My sleepwalk life is held between his fingers. Over a decade which took me more courage than I had to survive. When resilience scratched out a scrap of renewed hope to go on. He reads a few sentences penning corrections. Exclaims, ‘Your writing is horrendous!’ Just like that, he betrays my trust.
I have done some work around personal growth, so I do not blurt what tumbles to the tip of my tongue. ‘Shut the fuck up you crazy old bastard! Did you even read page one!” I sit quietly letting him think I am a lady.
He set me back. But I have never easily caved.
So, to Mr./ Mrs. McJudgey with an overly critical voice, read a human story before asking sensitive questions with answers on page two. Not all lives are as simple as they may appear to an extended life of privilege. Stretch your mind. Step into the shoes of anyone who is living/has lived with true life adversity. Think like a child. Correct with kindness.
Cathy did not know me through those years, but she did have the testicular fortitude to ask, ‘How did you ever come back from that Nancy?’ I replied, ‘I don’t know.’ But I do know. Horrendously. Unimaginably. With eternal gratitude. I appeared with eager anticipation of decades of living my one cherished life. Wondrously at peace with myself.
I have reason, other than ego to want to share how I did it.
Skill can be learned. I am finally confidently in possession of the rare courage it takes to tell my story.

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