My Prologue

Write what you know.

That’s what I’m told. I’ve heard that everyone has a story inside them to share. I’ve been told that no one can tell my story quite like me.

So as I sit back and ponder these words, I have to ask myself, what do I know?

I know the pain and sting of rejection. That feeling that I wasn’t good enough, especially when being my real self.

I know the grip of fear. The paralyzing realization that I cannot stop mistakes, pain, or hurt from happening to myself or the ones I love, whether real or imagined.

I know the shame of admitting that I don’t have enough: enough resources, enough time, and enough intelligence, even at times enough perseverance.

I know the hurt of brokenness. I am too familiar with the hurts that exists due to the selfishness of others as well as the ones that exist due to self-centeredness of my own.

I know the emptiness of loneliness. There’s a kind that keeps me busy day in and day out, constantly pouring my heart out, yet feeling as if I’m not really being seen in the midst of my toil.

I know the confusion of doubts; the questions that echo in the heart that no one can answer. The ones that ring so deep and clear, I’ve wondered if I’ll ever be able to shut them out.

I know the whispers of hope. The echoes in the wind that urge me forward, telling me to believe and trust that my story is not over.

I know the allure of beauty. I’ve encountered paths that bid me come closer and see and taste the delights offered within.

I know the freedom of forgiveness. I’ve made mistakes and done many a wrong, and nothing has set me free greater that the hurts ones who have offered me mercy.

I know the passion of love. The fierce and strong ties that boldly declare: you are wanted; you are mine.

I know the mystery of faith. The indelible stirrings deep inside that evoke me forward with belief based on something intangible. 

I know that as much as I know, there is so much more that I don’t know. There is so much more to be lived, to be experienced, to be exposed to.

So as I aspire to one day “tell my story like only I can” I’ll start with this little list. I’ll start with writing what I know.





Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Lid

Image
When I was a child, my siblings, cousins, and I would spend our evening hours in the summer in hot pursuit of lighting bugs. The ideal lighting bug trap was a jar with a lid. When that wasn’t an option, we’d settle for clear plastic cups covered with aluminum foil for a lid.   It was always very important to poke holes in the lid. We did this to keep the bugs alive while in captivity. Then, after we had our fun enjoying their lights, we could uncover them and release them back to nature.   Seven weeks ago I gave birth to my own little lighting bug. Alvaro is as cute and precious as they come. And like a lighting bug when I was a child- he already fills my life with awe and wonder. Such is the nature of being able to witness the birth, growth, and development of my children. We as people come in all shapes and sizes, just like jars do. Some jars are dark, some light, others are tall, some short. You get the picture. Alvaro’s jar is wrapped with an extra chromosome. If his ja
Read more

Well Said

Image
I've been wanting to share a "Conversations about Down syndrome 101" on my Facebook for some time. So I decided it was time to contain it in a blog. Most of you know if you are a regular reader of my blog, that words are important to me. I seek to communicate clearly: to be heard and understand for what I am actually saying and meaning. I also seek to understand what someone else is actually saying and meaning, beyond their choice of words. This particular blog may make some people uncomfortable. You my read the following and say, " Um.... I said that - but I didn't mean it that way !"....   or " Why didn't you tell me that's how you felt about what I said ?" Please take note this is not a blog to address any specific conversation with any specific person. Before Alvaro I didn't know many individuals with Down syndrome (DS). In fact, I've met only one person and encountered him on less than a handful of occasions.
Read more

PTSD: A 6 Month Update

Image
It’s been 6 months since Alvaro’s accident. Six months since we were THISCLOSE from losing him. Six months since I have counted every day a blessing and have been more grateful than ever to have this child in my life and care. Interestingly enough, this 6-month mark is when I became aware I was suffering from PTSD. The shock of the trauma from his accident began to wear off a few weeks after it happened. Unfortunately, a whole new series of stressful and discouraging events immediately followed. This prevented me from being able to stop and breath and slow down. Simply put, I was in survival mode, dealing with one draining situation after another. Until one day I woke up and wondered how I had arrived at this place again? A place where I lacked self-care and rest. A place where I looked OK on the outside. I smiled and made jokes and told people I was hanging in there. But inside I was drained, dry, and depressed. On more than one occasion, I would admit the truth. Tha
Read more