Telling the truth has done more for my healing than anything else. I wanted to change my story — make the ending different.

But, that just wouldn’t be the truth.

If I had married a different man to have children with I wouldn’t have my two beautiful daughters. Their father was an abusive brute of a man, but he gave me them. They wouldn’t exist without him.

I don’t like that part of the story, but’s it the truth.

Rejected from my mother’s womb, the struggle to belong and be present on this journey is a daily battle. And, it’s the truth.

My maternal grandmother had these hard candies in a bowl most days. They were sealed together and dusty from display. Cracking them apart I grabbed one, sat and enjoyed the comfort of her house.

All memories blend together to make me who I am. The vast display of my being. Melding those memories into the fibers of me. Unprotected in the past, thriving in my future.

Tell the truth. It holds the keys to kingdom of life.

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