Never will I forget the day, in his "you are in HUGE trouble" voice, my father came to my room and demanded I follow him to the family room. Once there, I was instructed to sit next to him on the couch. He held up the red diary my mother rifled through my bedroom to find and dropped it into my lap. "Open it and read it to me," he demanded. Yes, my child psychiatrist father forced me to read aloud my innermost thoughts. Most painfully, he used my thoughts and words in my own writing against me.

Today someone threw a rock through my window. To specify, the rock was thrown through the window of my soul.

This morning a friend of mine told me a story. It was her story. It was upsetting and had potentially severe repercussions- for both of us…

Today on this crisp sunny afternoon, I journeyed home from a visit with family up north of my home. The sky was filled with birds, and both sides of the turnpike offered ample views of the bare-branched trees. Suddenly this blog post came into my mind. Line after line wrote themselves while I drove.

I was so intrigued by the barren branches and how they seemed like reaching hands.

In the mid-morning sun, I see pieces... of all that I am and want to be. Of all the beauty in the pain and suffering my abuse taught me. Of all the guilt I wore like a black, thread-bare cloak that sheltered me from the real understanding that I am NOT the abuse that happened to me. I am the brilliant and spectacular rose that bloomed despite a drought; the absence of love and acceptance that left me thirsting for sustenance. I was crushed under foot, but I am whole and continue to provide joy and beauty. My thorns are intact and will serve to protect me from future abuse.