Deep Wounds

When I opened myself to the darkness, the pain - it poured out from a place so deep and heavy in my heart, I have to imagine it’s anchored by generations of hurt - swelling, breaking waves. I cried for my mother, my grandmother, my father. I cried for the pains they experienced and the pains they gave.

I don’t ever want it to be said I don’t love my parents. I do - so fully -

I know they will come off like villains - and the pain caused is real and true - the insanity is true, and I had to tell you - so you know you’re not alone - so, you know not everyone has to be this way - that many choose not to be. But I also know that they honestly cannot face the pain they’ve caused - that it would wreck their fragile hearts, and that this is the cause of the cycle. That DEEP pain. And I cry for them, for I know and can see how much it hurts them, and I hurt for how their inability to face themselves became the barrier to their full recovery - to their truest, heart-filled selves.

Isn’t that hard? Doesn’t that feel sooo heavy?

This is not an excuse, but a knowing, an understanding.

And she cried for the wound she felt was so much deeper than she imagined - a chasm of overflowing sadness at how it had become and where it might heal.