I switched bookshelves and in swapping the books over, I came across a journal I started when my husband moved out the first time (2011 for those keeping score).
I didn’t read the whole thing, but the entries I read seemed like something that happened to a person I knew a long time ago.
I felt so bad for her.
That poor woman went through some really hard stuff with a one year old. She lost her husband that year. Her daughter went to out of state to college. Her best friend stopped communicating. Her stepson of 7 years too.
And she had a 1 year old she had dreamed of and now held. But life looked nothing like that dream.
In the midst of so much pain, she still felt so much love and hope. It seemed there were times she was holding on to toxic love and false hope, but it was all she had, so, you know what?
God bless her.
She did the best she could and she did a damn good job. She hung on. She believed in the promises and believed the “for better” part would kick in any day now. As soon as the “for worse” part departed. She kept the home together, believing it would be healed. She raised the baby with love and lullabies and laughter.
But not all warriors win the wars. And not all warriors return home.
It felt good to remember that woman.
And it felt really good to no longer be her.
In my recent move I too found a journal from long ago when I was “that” woman. Oh how I ached for her. But so glad to not be her anymore. I contemplated tossing the journal so that I would not have to revisit that time. And to be honest I can’t remember now if I did or not. If I didn’t it is in a box somewhere for me to contemplate again.
Here is to both of us for becoming stronger.
Amen.