Lately, memories have been coming back to me, flowing into my consciousness when I’m half asleep in my bed. I’m not sure why certain events surface when they do. Why I’m now remembering them so much more clearly.
I see myself walking home from school one afternoon, feeling a million miles from my friends. From everyone. I must have been seventeen, walking through our small town, then up the hill to a large, empty house. My mother and sister died a few years back. My father is in a mental hospital. I’m not sure how long I’ve lived alone, but I know my dad will return, that he’ll get better. He just needs time.
A few months later I’m making soup out of a bag in the kitchen when the phone rings. It’s my brother, fear and despair in his voice. Our dad has taken his own life. I remember sinking down on a chair, numb.
These are the things I needed to write about. The grief, the anger, and despair that I had bottled up inside of me. I wrote blog posts sharing what I was going through at the moment, making them into a book. But a story was also taking shape inside of me. A yearning to share pain and beauty side by side. I also longed to write about the old gods, the Goddess especially.
I wanted to write a story where She was walking beside my main character through all her trails, even when she thought herself alone.
Seeking faith
Faith is something I cling to, yearn for because life has always seemed scary to me. I find it both a relief and terrifying to put my life in the hands of the divine. I wanted to explore this by making my main character a priestess and having her struggle with her faith.
I think one of the reasons I didn’t write much in my old blog anymore is because I was afraid to share the raw pain of what I’ve experienced. I thought I’d been “complaining” long enough. But looking at these memories, thinking of my dad especially, it no longer hurts as much. I miss him. Will always miss him, my mom and sister, but my wounds are closing up, even healing. Writing has a lot to do with it I think. And the Goddess.
Learning from the past
I’ll let the memories come and look at them. Turn them over in my hands to see clearly what I’ve been through. For a long time, I belittled the pain of losing such a large part of my family. I didn’t want to bother people with the grief I was still carrying with me. But there’s something tremendously healing about looking the past in the eye for what it was, and seeing what it has taught me. How I’ve been carving gold out of black rock.
What lessons have you been through? Are you going through?