It is hard to share your real story.
Not just the parts of your story you want to share, or the story that presents the picture you want others to have of you, but what your story actually IS.
There are several women bloggers who have challenged me to step out of my writing comfort zone and begin sharing my story – unedited.
If you are struggling to share your story, go read their blogs…Fair warning folks, bring a tissue!
I have never met any of these women.
Most of them probably do not even know the tremendous impact they have had on my ability to share my story. But they have.
I have not shared my story for several reasons… I do not want to continue rehashing what is already past, I do not want in any way to disrespect my sweet husband, I do not want my personal “bizness” to be shared…
But these reasons are really just excuses covering up my fear of what people will think of me if I begin sharing.
Today, one of these women gave me the courage to begin telling a part of my story I have not shared. It was in response to her blog The Death of Dreams
When my ex-husband decided to leave for someone else ten years ago…. this final betrayal in addition to enduring two solid years of abuse at his hand, I remember there was a stubborn rust stain in the kitchen sink. The stain was from a cast-iron pan that was impossible to clean, so we typically just let it sit for days.
After killing my dream of what marriage was “supposed” to be, he left his stain behind.
The day I moved out of “our” house – the stain “magically” was clean-able, but the mark in my heart still remains.
The dream had been brutally murdered by someone who was no longer a part of my life, but I had not died to the dream.
Instead I kept carrying around the dead weight of my life-less dream hoping I could resurrect what I thought was what my dream was supposed to be.
But that was not my dream – it was only a mirror of my dream. It was a second-rate impression of what my dream was supposed to be.
It was not a pure reflection, it was simply a reflection, an image, an impression.
Somewhere in my heart, I always knew it was a substitute… I knew it all along. I knew it before we got married.
I just did not TRUST my heart to know.
So I continued to long.
I longed because I wanted my dream… I longed because I knew a taste of what it could be and my life did not match up to the dream I carried in my heart…
Even in the midst of that awful first marriage, my heart still longed to be embraced by the REAL manifestation of my dream.
But that second-rate impression introduced me to myself, my instincts, my soul, my True God – not just who I wanted Him to be…
As I learned to fight for myself, I found parts of myself coming alive that I had always ignored.
As they were birthed, I grieved over the years I had shoved them into oblivion.
I carried around depression. Clinical depression. Anxiety. I got help.
Ten years later… God unlocked the keys to a better dream. It does not look like anything I planned as a little girl. Doesn’t look much like my longing said it would…
But it is good. And God is good. And in that goodness, I can receive my sweet new groom as God’s perfect gift to me.
Alece, thanks for pushing me off the ledge… I feel strangely free of the past.
As I continue sharing about this part of my story in days to come, my prayer is that as my other blogger friends have encouraged me, so too will you be encouraged by my story and know that if you share my story, you are not alone, things are not hopeless, and there is a light at the end of the tunnel…
Many of the Samaritans from that village committed themselves to [Jesus] because of the woman’s witness: “He knew all about the things I did. He knows me inside and out!” John 4.39 MSG