I am coming out of the closet about my fear and hatred of this blog, my inner self a year ago began in a naive journey to healing, alone, free, with my coffee cup and girls on my bed, writing until my heart said stop.
It was beautiful while it lasted.
It wasn’t until a woman challenged me on key aspects of myself, radically different from one year ago, that I knew this blog had run its course.
am coming out of the closet about my fear and hatred of this blog, my inner self a year ago began in a naive journey to healing, alone, free, with my coffee cup and girls on my bed, writing until my heart said stop. It was beautiful while it lasted. It wasn’t until a woman challenged me on key aspects of myself, radically different from one year ago, that I knew this blog had run its course. PUT UP OR SHUT UP. Now, a year later, 1000′s of views and my heart and guts laid out for all to see, discuss, judge or ask questions, a private diary I cringe to have exposed, I decided it would be the very first time in 33 years I wrote because I had to, not for me or anyone to love or approve, but because I had to. One more day of pretending for anyone was going to kill me, the relief of seeing my heart on page helped me grow and my backbone started to show, my words were more brave than ever, about the same time my phone rang less and less. I was naive, my dear friends. It would have been easier to be shot than hung out to dry for family members to love and then loathe me, based on nothing but words across a screen, images and illusions were crashing, in which I was being told I was abusive in my writing, way before I started really writing the truth of my family dynamics, of my personal intense look at my own hurt, not pointing, but looking, at myself.
I never wanted this.
I never wanted to hurt anyone, make my issues a public announcement, and for the most part I was careful to only write about my father, which was supported, but I never wrote for them. I wrote for me. And so I have lost all that I once thought beautiful, all the posts from the beginning I feel sick even seeing, a blinding white light that hits my eye, my head pounding in pain from the brightness of it, and I wonder if all I wrote had been worth it. I wonder if I want the illusion back.
So, I decided to close this chapter of writing to “find my bliss” one year later, and have written that post over and over again, somewhat unsatisfied each time. And the last draft, I surrendered.
I surrendered to the little girl begging me to allow myself to be free, just for this, my coffee cup and blog saved my soul even if I did lose my illusionary life, and although I am no hero, flawed, terrified, as human as it gets, a fighter I always have and will be. I fight for the truth that lies within me, the wholeness of what may come to surround me, for the people I supposedly abuse, a slap in my face indeed.
So, I shall wrap up the year, this ungodly awful year full of growth, loss, sadness, and total confusion, with hope, for without it, all is lost. I hope for the greater good, the truth that sets me free, the courage to face myself in your eyes on the street, at work, in the gym. One day, I will see this blog differently, as I press on, for I know as the Hurricane states, “Hate got me here, but Love is going to bust me out.”
Bring out the gloves, this fighter has just owned her gift, and I need a lot of training, water breaks, mental strategy, and you, the cheers in the crowd, faceless soulful people who remind me I am on a team, and that people are placing bets everywhere, for or against me, but for my fans, I will fight. Look out haters, I’m gonna knock you out. For my fans, the ones I know and ones I don’t, who support me through loving comments, prayers, links, thoughts, and non judgement, we’re going all the way home.
This one is for you.
Looking back on the ten schools I survived, moving from 
