Journally . . . . and the learnings

As part of this immense personal awareness journey I have decided to start – the one where I will find out “What made me Who I Am?” - I have started journaling – on the suggestion of some great family and friends, and a professional acquaintance.  

There are parts of my past that I have no problem, or concern, sharing, and it really helps me to type them out.  Typing is somewhat therapeutic for me, while writing makes my hand ache (and it stops me from smoking – and man, could I smoke right now – these last 2 days could have puffed a carton!).

In Feb I saw a photo of my dad that bought to my surface some emotions I did not know I had.  All of a sudden I was crying tears that I had not allowed to be released since July 15, 2006.  I was letting my emotions become awake and alive again . . and I am not sure that I liked it, and it knocked me on my ass – which in hindsight was just what I needed.

I am lucky to be blessed and surrounded by some pretty special people.  Some close, some far - but all definite assets to me in my life.  When 2 friends heard my silent cry for help, yes there is such a thing as a silent cry – it is one that is building inside you, that is fighting hard to get out, and the only people that see it are ones that truly love and care about you, and notice the struggle you are having.   They saw the “I am strong, I am tough, I am always there for others” facade suddenly crumble just a little, and the concrete wall I had built start to show it’s weariness; they stepped up to kick my ass into a form of emotional submission. 

They demanded and encouraged me to allow myself to feel and acknowledge, (and not have to understand), the sudden emotional roller coaster ride I was on, and they promised to sit in the seat right beside me the whole way, holding my hands.  That is when I knew I had to allow this to take it’s natural course.  How and why was I sobbing, heaving, nauseating over a man that I had emotionally shut off long ago?

So part of my prep-work for this week’s meeting with a professional was to be ready to talk about my childhood and what memories are clear, and what ones are not so clear.  And why I have chosen to blur some of them into the background.  So I have been sitting thinking about what issues I had as a kid, if any - you know me "I had a good childhood, there was nothing wrong with it".

I have realized that I have always told people that my dad left when I was 7, and Linz was 5. Well, it seems that I have that totally messed up, and I was 11 or 12 when he left. Where did I lose 4 years in there? Why was i so far off . . I can understand 6 months, but I was off by 4 years or more!

What helped me remember the right timelines? I can remember shoplifting when I was in first year of upper school (grade 9 over here), and I was age 11 or 12, and I was 'let off' as my mum blamed my behaviour on the marriage break up that was happening - so the more i remember, the more i realize it was 1977'ish - (only 3 years before I came to Canada - but that seems so wrong . . . I feel like my mum and dad were apart for about 10 years before we came here). I blame the shoplifting it on the fact that I had a HUGE crush on my Classical Studies teacher, Mr. Jordan, and I was stealing baby clothes for his wife . . . . yes, I know - I do stupid things when my heart/emotions and common sense don't connect with each other ♥

So as i go through my memory banks . . . . i feel as if I am struggling to find memories of that missing 4 or 5 year period.  A special friend asked me a very honest question the other day, she asked if I thought I was abused in any way . . . . I said no, back then they were spare the rod, spoil the child.  And sitting here recalling some childhood memories brings tears - not heartfelt sobs, but slow, eyes overflowing tears . . . because the more I think about my young years, the more i can remember.  And some is good, and some honestly hurts to recall.

I seem to lose myself in my thoughts a lot lately.   I will sit just staring off into space. . . and that is when I remember the most . . . I even did it Sunday at the BMX track . . . someone said something. . . and I found myself staring at the treeline just reliving a few memories, oblivious at times to the people around me and having to keep my sunglasses on as my eyes teared up.

I am nervous of this path/journey I am taking as I don't seem to have a ton of control on when some memory I had buried pops into my head, (any hints on how to control that would be gratefully accepted) but I am also very grateful to be able to take it - I will no longer use the word scared.