This fight, this life
This blessing this curse
The more I object
the more it hurts
I never struggled with bravery
But depression made a slave of me
I’m a stranger to who I was made to be
But this life
Got my guard up now
I’ll be alright.
Growing. Healing. The gardening process has begun…
I’m starting the process of regrowth by taking a long hard look at some of the seeds that have been planted in me; the seeds that helped make me who I am, that I am proud of, and that I plan on taking with me into the future. I’m digging those badboys up and gently planting them in pots until my garden has been thoroughly weeded and then ROTOTILLED and is ready for replanting…I’ve got a little bit of work on self to do in the next upcoming weeks but it will be worth it in the end.
The first seed I’m carefully potting and setting aside until this garden is hospitable for them again is my writer. I am a writer. It just is. I’m been writing stories down on paper since before I knew the alphabet, those scribbles were just that, scribbles, and you needed my barely-able-to -speak self to translate the tale they told, but they did tell a story. The writing seed was a team effort on parents part, something instilled in me back when I was hardly able to walk.
My WRITER seed: My writer seed was planted on my father’s lap while he read to my brother and I from a book called Far Pastures. I loved it when my dad read to us. He would bring stories to life with how he would use his voice to emulate the different characters or build up suspense. Far Pastures was written by a man of a different era named R.M. Patterson who went on countless adventures and documented them with pen and picture. I remembered being a little girl knowing that someday I was going to go on adventures and share them. Someday I hoped that perhaps my stories would be catalyst for someone else’s family to share moments like those shared in the living room of that little cabin I spent my first years in.
Mom gave substance to my writing seed because she planted imagination. The cabin was too small for either Kevin or I to have a room, so for my first four years my brother Kevin and I would have a slumber party every night in the living room on the pull out bed. Mom would tuck us in at night, always asking us, “Where would you two like to fall asleep this time?”
“The mown-tains!” I would say.
“I want to sleep in a castle!” My brother would chime in.
And then mom would pick one and our eyelids would grow heavy to the comforting sound of her voice as she painted pictures in our minds of worlds that otherwise didn’t exist, worlds that I would run through in my dreams. How great was the day I realized I could do the same thing! Create worlds if I wanted to… Imagination is such a blessed thing.
I am arming myself in this second half of life with my imagination and my writer. Two thinks I cannot imagine having faced this life without.
Seeds… No matter whether a seed flowers or not is not the point. The point is you were able to share something special with another person and it affected them POSITIVELY. What a great gift. Can you think of the seeds that have been planted in you? What are some of the gifts that you have been given throughout your life? Who planted them in you? How often do you exercise them?