Hurt but never too tired to fight. Drifting in this mindless game, afraid to let doubt enter my brain.
I hear all those voices that tell me to turn and walk away, but I’m too stubborn to do it that way.
I have lots of love that keeps my heart strong.
Although there are pieces scattered from the wrong that has damaged my heart.
I cry the kind of tears that lets out pain.
I also have tears that keep the rest of me sane.
Being me has paid a toll for sure. I can feel it when I second guess my self, and when I am alone to think.
Pieces of a torn heart will never again be whole but somewhere, some way I manage to keep my soul.
Whispers fill my mind with doubt, snaps from conversations with those I love remind me of how little I matter at times.
It is hard to take but I somehow mange to let it leave my consciousness so I can continue, yet again.
I fall sometimes so hard, I swear I am forever broken. Guess what though? I seem to rise despite the hurt from it all.
As if I was a rubber band, I snap back and look in place where I belong.
Is it me or does everyone have some sort of torn heart? I know I am not the only one whose pieces are all out of sorts.
The days I live through seem to have a beginning and an end to them, yet I repeat moments in my life over, and over again.
Almost like a clown working for another’s applause or attention, I find myself saying things and doing things I thought I had forgotten how to.
It seems I have a mechanism that I use to hold my heart’s pieces together.
It is one that hold’s tightly to the slightest of joys, the weakest of effort, and the humbling of pride for even a milli- second. It is when I need to and with whomever, or whatever is my focus.
If you have pieces of a torn heart, do you find something quick enough to grab all them and hold them in place? Or do you take your time and give each piece attention needed for as long as it takes to get them put back right? I guess that would be a matter of personal choice.
I would think that if you can you will try to fix the cracks or tears or at least you would do the best job to make it whole again, despite the time it takes or the effort you have to put forth. As so you should.
Hearts were made to take the worst but give the best. They are special. If you are lucky enough for someone to give you theirs, try and take good care of it. If it gets torn and damaged it will never truly be the same.
Inside us all, there are ideas, perspectives, thoughts, opinions, and more that have been engrained in us from our life around others. Those things mentioned affect our ways of treating others, either subconsciously or consciously. MwsR
Many times, too many really to recall, I have been before others singing. It was something that I really thought was my “calling” when I was younger. Now, I am not so sure it was a “calling” but more of a “witness”to others. Not long after I had kids it was that I stopped singing for a public audience. I think the part of why I did it when younger was simply not there in my life that had started of my being a mother. Don’t get me wrong, I really thought I could sing and wanted to do it, especially if people would listen, or want to listen. I liked the attention it brought me, and on a personal note, I liked witnessing to others what my heart knew already. I sang in a lot of different venues, but mostly in a church setting. There is where my heart soared when I sang. I felt like there was so much in me that if I did not sing, I would surely burst from it all building up inside.
There was so much music did for me, that music said, and still does today. If a person can relate to another through something that is entertaining, brings a person much joy, or just plain ole speaks to their heart, well then you should do that. One of my favorite songs to sing , especially in church settings was, “My Father’s Eyes” by Amy Grant.
This song really spoke to me. It wrote about trying to see people and their circumstances, etc, with eyes full of compassion, and eyes that could feel. I really understood these lyrics because I felt I was always an “empath”from as far as I can remember. I think it does not take a great person to follow the lyrics of this song. I think it takes a person who genuinely wants to see the good in people. A person perhaps, that knows how to empathize because they were treated with empathy, or maybe because there had never been any empathy shown towards them. In this song there is kindness, feeling, and it is about reaching a level where the person can be “Christ-Like”, in a religious standpoint.
I believe Amy Grant wanted her public audience to be more perceptive to each other. I think that she wanted people to emulate Christ’s love. The Christ you read about in the Bible. Regardless of however you belief or worship, you can relate to this song in one way, shape, or fashion.
Some of the lyrics from the song “My Father’s Eyes”, I have quoted below;
I may not be every mother’s dream for her little girl And my face may not grace the mind of everyone in the world But that’s all right, as long as I can have one wish I pray When people look inside my life, I want to hear them say
She’s got her Father’s eyes Her Father’s eyes Eyes that find the good in things When good is not around Eyes that find the source of help When help just can’t be found
Eyes full of compassion Seeing every pain Knowing what you’re going through And feeling it the same
So the message I hope you gather from reading this blog, isn’t that I love to sing, or that I quit singing in public. The message isn’t about Amy Grant, although I do love her music. The message I hope you get from this blog is
That we all are needed in this world. We all have our struggles, our issues, our downfalls. Despite all that, we keep each other going through encouragement, feeling for another, helping one another, and simply trying to have EYES THAT SEE what another might have going on in their life. You don’t have to be a special person or one that came from some special or privileged background, to reach out and have compassion.We are all in this life for a special and unique reason. It does not matter if you know what that is or not. What really matters is when we get outside our “little bubble world” and actually have EYES THAT SEE.
I am not anyone special or better than anyone else, I just care to see what other’s may have going on.
Cats are some of my dearest treasures. I own quite a bunch. I only picked out one, his name is Meow Meow. The rest came to me, one could say. Cats are so smart and each one has their own personality. They are so independent yet they need love and affection, of course it is on their own terms. My cats are spoilt a bit but that is okay with me.
My cat named TIGGER
Cats can get into some places that you wouldn’t wish them to be, but that is part of the course when you have cats as pets inside your home. I truly think cats are the best pets especially when you go on a trip because they can use their litter boxes and don’t need to be taken out like dogs. I also have dogs and love them all the same as my cats but they require a human to go outside and pee or poop, unlike cats.
My cat named TABBY
The wise tail that cats have nine lives is one that would be nice to have come true, but in reality that is not true. I have lost cats that meant the world to me, and never is it easy. If you have been blessed to have a cat love you then you know what I mean. I think cats are special and if ever anything chose me it was my cats. When my cat Daisy died, whom I had for fourteen years, I sprinkled daisy seeds everywhere to remind me of her. Those seeds made beautiful daisies that I see every summer and that makes me smile. Daisy was the first cat love I had and she was a great furbaby. I will forever miss her.
So if you ever thought about loving a cat, maybe you should give it a try. They definitely are great and loving. It will be a love you will treasure for sure.
Desperately, I look for some re-assurance, some acknowledgement,that everything I have done was handled the right way. I try to stay positive, yet there is so much I question and then question again. Did I not do all I could to ensure that my family is happy, healthy, and have their needs taken care of?
Photo by Simon Matzinger on Pexels.com
Some people in the parenting world question all their actions, thoughts, words and feelings at one point or another. I,myself, have been doing this here lately. I have three kids and they have been my whole world for so long now. Now, they are going to be all graduated from high school, in a matter of weeks, and I am finding myself wondering about so much of my life, in regards to them. I am going to watch my youngest graduate in a few weeks. For some reason though I am feeling some kind of way. No, it isn’t going to be the empty nest yet although I hear that will come later on. For some reason I find myself wishing my kids were still in that middle school age. You know, the age when your kids still wanted to hang out with you and do things with their parents.
For me, raising my kids went fairly well. My husband and I were always “hands on” parents. Meaning we went to all the games of sport our kids choose to participate in and we went to all the awards, and concerts they were in at school and otherwise. Our kids have been our sole purpose in all we do and undertake and work for, other than the basic essentials it takes to live. I wish I had of had parents like us. I would never say we were the absolute best parents a kid could have, yet I would say we were plenty patient and loving and encouraging.
Here lately though, as I count down the last days of my last kid being in school, I am torn between being happy and being sad. I am definitely proud and relieved to say the least, but still. I know there is times when it seemed like this graduation thing was never coming and my husband and I fretted for the final outcome. But alas, we are almost there. As I sat in an awards ceremony last night I was reminded of all the kids that I have known since they were in kindergarten with my own kid and how much they had grown and how they too were graduating. It hit me hard. It was almost sad enough that I almost teared up. I had worked for the school system and at one point or another I had personally got to know all these kids in one way, shape, or form and it was a proud moment, a happy moment, and a sad one.
I figure this all is normal. I also figure that every parent who reaches this point in their kids lives has the same or along the same thoughts. It just is a time to reflect. It is also a time to be proud and also a sobering time. So many emotions, so much on my mind. Which brings me to my first paragraph again, in that as a parent you want to know that you have given each of your children a good start in life that is going to be beneficial to them. You will question your motives, actions, thoughts, and interactions. That is normal to think those things. What you should try to focus on though are the positives, not what if’s and all the blessings you and your family has had along life’s journey together. You might not always be together but you can always keep the bond. All you have to do is HANG ON 🙂
Today is Memorial Day. It is a time when people all over the USA share their sentiments, respects, reverence for those that have been in our armed forces, stood on battle fields, and have given their own lives to insure our constitutional rights and so forth.
I for one, have had family members that have served in the armed forces so I am a respecter of those select individuals. I believe it takes a strong person to lay down his own life for someone they have never even met. I also believe that not every one is cut out to be one of those people. My Uncle served for our country and he was even stationed over in Germany for a while. Our family never truly knew what it was that he did until his death. He designed bombs and was held to a secrecy of utmost importance. He was always someone I admired but not because of that, for I knew none of that when I was growing up, but rather for his personable self. I always laughed at his jokes and his big smile was captivating. He was special to me then and since finding out about his sacrifices he personally made to protect our country, well, that makes him even more special.
You see it all the time on our televisions, references to the people who defend our liberties and rights. You hear sometimes of their tragedies as well as their bravery. The news sometimes tells of the heroic actions of some while paying respects to those whose lives were ended in battle or certain tragedies. We hear of things from World War 1, and World War 2, and the bravery that followed all those bravery is something that we definitely can relate to the individuals that have served, are serving, and will be. There can be no doubt that those individuals are special.
In honor of todays holiday, I hope that you as well as I, remember the sacrifices these types of individuals give. It is also not only them but their families and all that love them. It is hard to pick up at the spur of any given time and just move, not to mention having the tremendous burden of worry for your loved one that serves our country. Those types of feelings and sacrifices are what helps to make our nation great. They deserve respect and honor.
There was never a safe place for me when I was a child, at my home. Things that were out to get me came in the form of a parent. I was naïve to a fault. I got into the normal trouble others would at my age and always got a spanking or grounded or some form of punishment. My parents believe in the Biblical saying, “Spare not the rod, spoil not the child”, Spare not the rod and I felt every bit of their compliance to adhere to that. I thought sometimes that my parents got joy from punishing me, because they did it so much. I know now though, that was not the case. Spanking kept me, for the most part, on my better behavior rather than not. The reason I mentioned that was to say that they were strict and it mattered to them what people saw when they looked at our family, such as well-behaved kids, etc.
Anyhow, back to not having a safe place…
My parents worked a regular first shift job. They took me and picked me up from school since I attended a private Christian school. Usually it was my mother in the morning, and my father in the evening. I was never took or picked up by both. It just worked out that way for several reasons. One was that my mom went the way of my school, early enough she could take me, and my father got off first so he had time to pick me up.
I am grateful for my school, even though it was a strict Baptist one. It was really special to me because I practically knew everyone in the grades below me and most of the students in the grades above mine. It was a close-knit group. Almost everyone knew each other. My graduating class was just 13 students. It was very small, but there was other graduating classes smaller than that. I’d say the time when I attended there was 300 students from grades pre-k to senior. The teachers acted like they generally cared for us and wanted us to be good people. There was certain students that because of getting in trouble at another school, they were sent to mine. They were the so-called, “troublemakers”. I made some of my closest friends from that group, what does that say about me, haha. My school was a good place for me to be myself and feel safe. Actually, it was the only place I could possibly feel safe.
I say that school was my where I felt peace, where I felt if I needed help I could get it. My home was not like that. My home had more secrets than a mystery novel. My mom was the really hard-core disciplinary. My father was the one who sat on the sidelines until my mother sequestered his help with disciplining. So, needless to say, I knew if I wanted someone lax I went to my father. My father and I had an unhealthy relationship. I believe his knowledge of me being adopted turned him into a different kind of person towards me than a healthy father figure. He had affection for me and not the kind I wanted. This made my home life not a safe place for me. I felt trapped and scared most of the time, more than loved.
Sometimes we do what we can to cope with our worlds, for me it was journaling. I wrote my emotions in notebook, after notebook and I even color coded my “emotions”, words. I kept my journals in various places around in my bedroom. I thought I had them pretty well hid. My mother was a very noisy mother and she would without warning go through my room, almost like she was on a mission to seek and destroy. No kidding. I think my mother’s first instinct was to think the worst of me without knowing if it was warranted first.
I remember this one day I walked into my room, and was wanting to write in my journal when I noticed it was not where I put it. I frantically looked for it. I had noticed that my room was moved around some. My thought went to , “uh ho!” I just knew my mother had it. After looking for my other journals, I could not find them. What I did find was my mother standing in my doorway. She had a look of anger on her face. She proceeded to tell me that I needed to stop writing lies in my books about my father and everyone. I was in shock. Without hesitation she started asking me what the different colors of ink was for. I told her, when I was mad I used red. When I was sad I would use blue. I said that yellow was for feeling sick inside, and pink was for my favorite things, etc. She looked through my journals that she had and started ripping out the pages where she saw something she did not like. I was devastated.
All the stuff I had so meticulously wrote in them was gone. I felt betrayed but mostly hurt. I think I will never get over that feeling of being completely and utterly exposed as well as betrayed. I don’t think my mother ever felt the same about me after reading my journals, in fact, I am sure of it. From that moment on I was a good for nothing liar and in her mind I hated them both. I have not kept a journal since, instead I write poems and quotes and short stories. In doing that, I can again express myself but never again will I , in a journal.
“What I have learnt from that chapter in my life is to find a way to express your pain, your fears, your thoughts if you really need to. Find a person you trust and talk with them, but be careful not everyone wants to hear about the true life you lead. Remember not everyone is your friend. Also, if you are being abused, mistreated, or you are scared of someone or something happening in your life, talk to someone, or seek help. Don’t let anyone keep you silent.” ~MwsR
Mws R Writings 