I feel a call to write about something.
Something that was once filled with pain.
Something that is now far behind me.
My blood family.
More precisely, my choice to be separate from my blood family.
What good can come of writing this?
Who does it serve?
How does it serve them?
I question, I resist, I delay.
There are so many other ways to use my precious energy, so many other words that could be shared, so many other topics that need our attention.
Yet the push persists.
Who would want to hear these stories? I don’t even want to remember them!
But how do I tell of this without the stories?
“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” ― Maya Angelou
That’s just it.
I remember how I felt in my birth family.
I remember how I didn’t feel in my birth family:
Seen, heard, loved.
These people taught me best who not to be and how not to act to one another.
It was long ago. I have learned so much – felt so much – since then.
Today, most of the time, I feel loved, accepted, heard.
I feel seen, welcomed and not alone.
Today, I also feel connected to the Divine, content, inspired.
So, again, I ask, why write this?
Perhaps it is to simply share.
Share that on the other side of alienation, acceptance may be waiting.
That if you also feel alien in your world, that you can find peace and acceptance.
To let you know that you are not alone.
If I can do this, so can you.
And it’s totally okay.
And so I write.
I write for me, for you, for us.
For our going forward feeling whole and healed and together.
There is much to tell and many ways I could start.
I begin with now.
Years after separating myself from the family I grew up in, my mother emails me, asking to talk.
She has to throw in a few religiously political guilt-references along with her request.
This was my response.
No, thank you.
The time for talking passed many years ago.
I wish you no harm, and only light and love. May you have a beautiful life, separate from mine.
About a month later, a letter from her lawyer.
They want to give me one last chance to say I want to be included in the will, after years before saying I wanted no part of it.
From my perspective it looks like they want to appear to be generous and gracious.
Generous and gracious would just leave me in the will without confirming anything.
I don’t care about the will. It will neither make nor break me to be included. Receiving something from their estate will not trigger some kind of a magical reconciliation.
I respond by saying it’s their estate, they can do whatever they want with it.
Each of these emails brought me some disturbance, a little shimmy of unsettledness.
The faintest echo of those feelings from childhood.
The shimmy didn’t last, the echo faded as fast as it started.
Both of my responses feel freeing, empowering, and rich with release.
Whether I was actually heard or not, I know I have spoken.
With all of these years, all of this growth between then and now, I can share my voice.
It feels good.
Even if it is hard to write.
There has been so much more to this journey. What more will I tell you? How will I share the story of my path? I don’t yet know.
If you have something you want to know – a part of the story you really want to hear – let me know.
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