All my life I have thought I have a story to tell. But what makes my story of childhood abuse, running away, being homeless, being a teenage mom, rebelling so different from anyone else’s story of troubles?
Well, quite simply, it’s MY story. and it IS relevant.
My children don’t know me, really KNOW me. They know the mother they see everyday, or saw everyday, before they left the nest. The nest that more often than not, was broken and held together by my fake smiles, miracle birthdays and ability to pretend like we were exactly where we were supposed to be even when we were homeless.
I have never felt like I belonged to anyone or anything. I have gone through the motions of life because that is what we are supposed to do. I belong to the universe and I intend to tell you how I know that to be my painful truth.
I am everyone else’s…everything.
It is a lonely, painful journey and I am hoping through this, this truth, that if I alone as a human being can’t find someone to belong to that my story will have a home in your heart and that I can find peace with my journey.