In my young adult years, I had a hard time being seen for who I was.
I was always identified by where I grew up, whose sister I was or who I hung out with. Although I loved those aspects of myself, I was more.
As years went on, I had to make choices for my happiness. Choices often opposite of what I thought was expected of me. That meant becoming vulnerable to change and criticism.
That shift came with a yearning to experience more of what life had to offer. I began to look outside the walls put in place by others and myself to live a life God wanted me to live.
I began to capture these experiences in my writing. This became a way for me to purge, process and heal.
This blog is that journey and it continues. A journey full of love, tears, pride and lots of laughs.
Thanks for joining me.
The Capacity to Forgive
In the late 1930’s-1940’s, a young boy was raised by his maternal grandparents in a rural town.
When he was born, the boy’s parents split, moved to separate cities, and started new lives without their son for reasons unknown. The boy was left to be raised alongside his uncles like their brother.
Life was tough. His grandfather was strict, and he had to work in the field tending tobacco and possibly other crops. He went to school, may have gotten in a bit of trouble, but nothing too serious.