wounds.

Just when I’m forging ahead, feeling my footing and feeling as though the rebuilding of this new life is really taking shape, something triggers the past.

I found my nine year old's password protected journal the other day while cleaning.  I was just about to lay it on her dresser, when just for fun, I thought I’d see if I knew the password.  I held it to my mouth and took a guess, trying not to laugh as I slowly spoke the words, “Somer Rocks” into the speaker.

And, on my first try, it unlatched.

I held it to the light, expecting to smile and read about iCarley, soccer games, and sleepovers.

I wish my mom and dad weren’t divorced.

I wanted to throw the damn journal.  I wanted to drive to her dad’s as fast I could, grab her, and hold her tight.  I wanted to explain everything.  I wanted to apologize for the years of yelling and fighting she may have overheard.  I wanted to curse the courts for granting week on/week off custody.  I wanted to blame my parents for allowing me to marry at eighteen.  I wanted to blame the church.  I wanted to blame myself.

It was one of those moments when I knew I could spiral downward – I could look around at my little house, my Sat – and, let fear seep in – fear that I’ll never get my degree, fear that I’ll always be a secretary, fear that we’ll forever live in a house with crooked floors and cheap carpet, fear that maybe I really can’t do it on my own, fear that my kids will be messed up.  Or I could look around and see how far I’ve come - regardless of what other women are doing at 35.

For everything you’ve lost, you’ve gained something else.  For everything you’ve gained, you’ve lost something else.   Emerson

I set the journal on her dresser and kept cleaning, choosing instead to look at all I’ve gained.  I walked through my house, touching the periwinkle walls of her room that she’d picked out - walls that I’d stayed up late to finish painting on a work night.  I walked into the living room and saw the card game from the night before, still scattered on the coffee table.  In my bedroom, I saw my college textbook on the dresser, race numbers from 5ks I’d run, pictures of Barb, Kathy, and other strong women who seemed to arrive on this journey just when I needed them.

Steve Jobs said “You can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something — your gut, destiny, life, karma, whatever. This approach has never let me down, and it has made all the difference in my life.”

And, so…I resolve…to trust, that even as I write, the dots are connecting.  That this rebuilding is taking shape.  That the card games and periwinkle walls will count for something.  That I am finding my footing. That all that feels crooked will, in time, straighten itself out and that my girls will be ok.