Ramblings of a Survivor

Over the last few months of beginning this blog, I have been privileged to have some of the most vulnerable honest conversations over texts with survivors, or those who support those survivors…and it’s caused me to ponder, and remember life changing moments where vulnerability was valued, respected, and encouraged. There haven’t been many of those…

Words spilled around me. I could see the pitcher above my head: an invisible hand holding its handle, the sheen of it’s white glaze mesmerizing me…no…TAUNTING me. I could see what was coming, but it was coming so slowly. TOO slowly. Pour it out!!! The hand holding it tipped in the wrong direction – stopping…

I turned my head, neck stiff. Do I really have to get up? The synthetic fibers of the sleeping bag crinkled loudly as I moved Don’t wake anyone! My toes touched the binding of the journal in it’s safety at the base of my sleeping bag. CRAP! who heard that? No on, Melissa. No one.…

“Do Justice, love Mercy, and walk Humbly with your God.” My fingers nimbly turned to find the verse: an easy target. This was one of my “hope” verses – it was highlighted in my New Moment’s Children’s bible At a young age, I had discovered the “notes” section nestled in the frail pages – and…

The dry grass jumped up between my toes as my Birkenstocks trod across the lawn. I was a bit early to pick up my kiddo. I always tried to time pick up perfectly – just early enough to see the kids go in from their last recess which was when parents could assemble awaiting release,…

Memories are confusing to me. Plain and simply – confusing: I remember. Strong, vivid memories… But then……I don’t remember. But then…. maybe I do. No. No. NO. I REMEMBER. Hold on. HOLD ON, Melissa. You can’t just put stuff in that didn’t happen. I mean….if it didn’t happen…it didn’t happen. Maybe I can to talk…

I’ve written emotively, passionately, vulnerably for several posts now; mostly not even knowing what words would stream from my fingers. In this process of writing vulnerably, I’ve started to remember how I got to this place. How I got to a point in my life that I can write and express without focusing specifically on…

“When ya gotta go, ya gotta go,” as they say. So it is with the dissemination of pent up stories, emotions, laughter and tears. So it is with love, and hate and anger. “When you’re ready, it’ll come out,” as they say. So it is with letting out the thing within you that has beleaguered…