How One Thought Can Shape A Lifetime

This will not be a lough-out-loud or charismatically-induced-gentle-smile post. It will be a sad post. For me at least. If you know me it says an awful lot about me. If you don’t, be prepared to learn a little something. I do apologize. I’ll make the next one fun and uplifting.  Think of this as me attempting the therapy I never received.

This is something I have only ever told one person. So to throw it up on the internet is… daunting. I know you’ll all be gentle, I’m not worried about that. It’s still daunting.

By the way, this is for the Daily Post Weekly Writing Challenge: I Remember. Okay…

 

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21 thoughts on “How One Thought Can Shape A Lifetime

  1. A beautiful and brave post… And you have no idea how much I can relate to this. If you want to talk further, feel free to email me. If not, congrats on being able to discuss such a painful subject…

  2. EJ, this may sound cliché-ish but with comfort comes discomfort. Sometimes, seemingly irreconcilable discomfort. I experienced a similar curveball, only I was eight young years. It shadowed me for years, sometimes lurking – other times dragging me into a mire of guilt. I could go on for pages about this and the impact it has had on my and my siblings lives. To brevity, allow me to share two thoughts: 1) Always love yourself. Always. and; 2) Self-riddled guilt serves little if no useful purpose. You have SO much more going for you and it’s testimony to who you’ve become – now; not who you once were and where life presented you with an unanticipated redirect. Onward, mate. Strongly! (As I suspect you are).

    • Thank you, Eric. Again, much appreciated. Those are two great pieces of advice. I will endeavor to remember both, and keep them close at heart. Onward I am always heading, and shall continue to do so. Thank you again, a hundred times over.

  3. I was 14 when my parents separated as well. It’s amazing how a young mind processes those traumas. There are many different things we do to cope and somehow explain the selfish decisions of imperfect people. I’m thankful that as we grow and change we are able to begin the long healing process and (hopefully) become wiser, more compassionate people.
    Very brave of you to share this. I think the more we share, the more we find that our experiences are universal. Someone, somewhere understands what we went through and how it affected us. (Me! I understand!)
    Thank you for being vulnerable, EJ!

    • Thanks for sharing Kaela, I figured there would be people that may relate to this, but I am already overwhelmed at the response. Young minds are very interesting things, aren’t they? Thanks for your kindnesses, and your understanding. You’re right about the sharing thing. And I suppose that is what makes it such a healthy exercise. A little alleviation from that feeling of isolation does wonders. Thanks for the support. 🙂

  4. A beautifully written, immensely courageous, moving and sad piece, EJ; I feel honoured to have read it. But it is all a part of what makes you you. I call it the Broken Clown Syndrome. You are witty and funny and wise and sometimes sad, and have been wounded at a very deep level. I am so glad you shared this, because I am sure many people will be able to identify with what happened. I love the way you write. For me, the emotional mood does not matter. Ali x

    • Thank you so much, Ali. Those words mean a lot. I love the ‘Broken Clown Syndrome’ phrase. I don’t even know why, it just makes a lot of sense to me. Seriously though, many thanks for those comments. You may never know how much they mean.

  5. Hi EJ, I thought there was some sadness deep within you from your post ‘Home is where ya feel it’ and yr last comment about being lost for a long time. It really is amazing how some things can stay with us for ever and shape who we are. I agree with Eric, he really does speak wise words. I’m afraid I can’t offer any such words of wisdom, even though I am from a divorced family my parents broke up when I was a year old. If I’m honest it has an effect on you whatever age you are, I never really knew my Dad and he died when I was 27 so I’ll never get to know him now. It made me think about what I would do if it was my kids going through this and what I could say to them to make them feel better. Which brought me to the next thought of what would your 29 year old self tell your 14 year old self that would make it better for him, make him realise it wasn’t his fault. You can’t change the event but you can change your perception of it and only you know yourself well enough to know what words would make you view it all differently. Maybe you could try it? I can’t be sure but you may find some peace from it. Big hugs xxxxx

    • Thanks, Michaela, for another lovely response. I don’t know what I would tell myself and maybe that’s the key. You’re right, changing perception is important. Again, difficult. Thanks again for those words, they really mean a lot. It’s really appreciated, so very, very much.

      • Some things we’ll never understand- mostly because so many aren’t worth understanding, but these events are. Thanks for the consideration, buuut you don’t owe an apology. Somehow I believe that if the truth is what we really desire (or need) and our minds and hearts are open to receiving it in whatever form it comes- however sad, plain, or ugly. We will because we can. It’s normal to go through the ‘stages of grief’ for something never grieved 🙂 That’s not wrong. If therein lies a wrong, I’d saaaay: going through life not knowing where to direct the grief or simply rejecting the “acceptance stage” of grief. I bet you’ll be better for this one. Thank you so much for sharing this piece of yourself.

      • Thanks, Meka. I think I’ll be better for it, too. I agree with all you said there. I must be on my way through to the other side of it. Your kind words are certainly aiding in that. Thanks so much. 🙂

  6. Oh, EJ. A hug and a song as a thank you for taking the time to spread lightness on other people’s blogs while dealing with heavy things on your own. xo.

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