Shame On Me

I was not a good enough wife. Or daughter, or mother or friend. I dropped the ball too many times and couldn’t live up to the ideal. I’ll fess up to that. I did try with mighty and heroic efforts but it was not to be done.

Shame on me.

I wanted to be seen and heard sometimes. Yes, that is a selfish thing. I wanted to be valued, treasured and trusted. Too much ego going on. I wanted the love I gave to have value that carried itself forward.  I have no words for that.

I can’t change what I was born into, I can only determine how I want to live. We are so much better at dismissing pain than we are at feeling it. We’re better at causing it than facing it. We are lost in the midst of trying to hold onto that thing we cannot name.

Depression is the thing that says “Fuck you, I’m tired of the character you play”. 

I’ve heard that shame cannot cling where it is spoken. I hope that is true.

I’ll speak it. Let it go.

Love takes courage.

To give.

To receive.

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