When I was little I was shy and afraid. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself or be noticed as different.
When I was little I felt no fear, I could climb the highest tree, ride the fastest sled. I was invincible.
When I was little I did not know about perfection or imperfection. We were all beautiful on the inside. If not I could feel something bad when close and didn’t like you.
I had an idyllic childhood. Free-spirited, running wild, loved by my community family.
I had a traumatizing childhood. So many different people came and went. Some good some so very not.
I grew up in a huge family. Encircled by love, prayer, and family.
I have no family. I am an orphan. Wiped from the church records, forgotten like a mistake they don’t want to be reminded of.
As a little girl, I loved nature and would play to my heart content in the woods.
As a broken-hearted girl, I wept atop a tree terrified to come down and walk the miles home thru the woods.
Loved beyond bounds, tossed away with the trash. Taught so much, yet so little. Prepared for the time of the end. Unprepared for life before the end.
These memories confuse me, amuse me, hurt me, and hug me. Maybe a thread of words will appear and find a flow.