My stories, My children.

So. When I write, I write for me. If people like it or relate to it, or my story moves them? That is amazing. Not even the cherry on the pie amazing; just, another soul connecting to mine, level of amazing.

We are all part of the 7 billion. Our pieces: of ourselves, our hearts, our souls, our brains, our shitty childhoods, our triumphs and tragedies, our experiences, our triumphs and failures, and all the days in between: When we write OUR stories? We connect.

Thanks to another writer who introduced me to this place, Medium has been the repository of my life stories.

The place where I can write about the things that have tortured me: being sexually abused as a little girl. Being raped by her father. Being diminished by a society that hates fat people. Being marginalized for being a pretty woman with strong opinions. Being mocked for having mental illness. Being a woman who survived a mother who, for a time, sought to kill my soul, but thankfully, failed.

For being the sister to a man whose life was inspiring, if all too brief. For being the wife whose husband lied and broke her. For being the girlfriend whose boyfriend had a standard she couldn’t meet. For being the mother whose child has at times hated her, perhaps with good reason. For being the woman who has deep and passionate beliefs about the death penalty.

For being the mother and woman who had an abortion that she does not regret.

Being the woman who committed herself to a psych hospital to save herself, from herself.

The woman who tries on the daily to learn about other lives and other experiences and a reality that she does not know, as much as she tries to connect.

The woman who, thanks to past illnesses, has been repaying her literal debt for 75 months and can finally see the end and her freedom in site, after losing her home, her health, and her dignity to those who would judge.

For being the adult woman who is finding her place again; who is learning what it is to be connected to someone WITHOUT LOSING HER PLACE.

And being the woman who has no shame in her game, nor regrets in her heart about the opinions she has. About the lives of others and others and others and others and others and others, from whom she can learn.

The woman who is grateful for those who are equally brave and fierce and strong and learned, though their experiences are different than mine.

The woman who always wanted a father like yours and yours; who married a man who IS that father, so that our child can have that. And the same woman who is divorcing that man, because she needs (I need) to stand strong.

Thank you, Medium for this gift. For this place, where I can be me, where I can connect and learn. Thank you.