Writing a memoir is a practice in truth telling.
Currently, the words on my pages only get seen by a very small select few as I gently nudge the edges of what I know to be true for myself. And, that is key. It's my truth. It seems kind of absurd that telling my truth would have to be a practice, but habits and expectations have hidden the truth of who I am for so long that I had forgotten. To return to my truth is delicate; fragile, to quote Frida Kahlo, "not fragile like a flower, fragile like a bomb." I'm not sure where it will detonate. Who will it decimate in its path? Will I regret the irreparable damage it may cause? The surprising thing I have come to discover is what is leftover in the aftermath. It's like the bigger the explosion, the taller I stand amongst the rubble. Truth telling is a practice in owning exactly who I am. I am beginning to take these truths off the pages of my drafts and explore what it looks like, what it feels like in my day to day life. It hurts. But, my tears flow freely as I stand tall amongst that rubble.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorMelinda Lee is a mom of two adolescent boys, a devout student of all things spiritual, a recovering perfectionist, and immensely fascinated with achieving the unachievable. Currently writing a memoir about hugging strangers. Archives
February 2023
Categories |