As I wake up and shake off the dust, I’m finding myself again. I’m remembering who I am.

I’m finding my light.

I’ve written a lot about why I am the way I am, or, the way I was. Or, who I’m unbecoming. I do this because I never did. Write about it, that is. Or talk about it for that matter.

One of my core upsets is feeling misunderstood or unheard.

Silence has tortured me so much of my life. You want to punish me? Just stop talking to me. Pretend like I don’t exist. Anyone else feel this?

Ironically, God gave me an exhusband who stonewalled me for the majority of 15 years, a father who didn’t talk to me for ten years, family that never asks meaningful questions or listens deeply, friends who thought I was fine when I definitely wasn’t fine, a friend of 30 years who didn’t speak to me for the last two, and a Love, my twin…who didn’t speak to me for five long horrible years.

That’s a LOT of fucking silence.

(And Contrast… (Another blog post coming soon…))

Thanks to the mirror exercise, I now understand why everyone is silent. I now understand why I’ve suffered SO MUCH.

Because…. for most of my life… I didn’t listen to myself. I didn’t hear myself. I didn’t talk to myself. I didn’t understand myself.

I didn’t listen to myself when my insides screamed “run away!” and I laid there, paralyzed. I didn’t listen to myself when my soul wanted to end my marriage ten years ago but I chose to listen to everyone else, my mind, my fear, my ego instead. I didn’t listen to myself…the part of me who was SO IN LOVE with another man…I didn’t listen to her. I silenced her. I denied her. I tried to forget her. I tried to kill her in my mind. I tried to kill my soul.

I didn’t understand myself when I was a silenced kid carrying the weight of the world and didn’t know what to do with it or understand why. Why. Why. I didn’t hear myself crying out for help after every flashback and every nightmare. I didn’t understand myself and why I wanted to die…I didn’t listen to myself. I kept misunderstanding myself. I kept running from myself. I stonewalled myself.

So OF COURSE I would attract more and more situations and people who would keep misunderstanding me. OF COURSE I would keep trying to get people OUTSIDE of me to listen to me… But FAIL and FLAIL because I wasn’t listening to MYSELF.

This feeling of being misunderstood grew and grew especially over the past 5 years or so. God is good and I finally understand why. Because I continued to bury my heart, my truth, my self deeper and deeper. Every day for five years I denied her. I shut her up and I shut her down.

But, she still cried out, “See me, hear me!!!”.

But I buried myself alive.

I could blame everyone else. I want to. I have. You’ve read it. I’ve tried. But no one has shown up on my doorstep and apologized. Even if they did, I’m not even sure it would heal me at the depths of which I feel that pain.

So I write. Because I can. Because I know I’m not the only one. And because I NEED to.

I have 39 years of jumbled up thoughts and pain. Ten years of completely denying myself. A lifetime of completely denying myself of good, of Love.

It’s all coming out now. At first, it wasn’t pretty. I was full of anxiety and panic and desperation. Imagine being buried alive and then one day God takes a shovel and breaks the ground and says “wake up! Come out!”

Writing this now makes me realize that I had my Lazarus moment…. “Lazarus! Come forth!”

“Keturah! Wake up!!!!”

So there she is, my soul, buried six feet under. For the first time in ten years she’s seeing day light again.

My rescue felt like clawing my way out from six feet of packed in dirt. Like tens of thousands of feet had walked on me. It wasn’t pretty. He said I was flailing. Well….I think you might flail too if you realized you were buried alive.

So, I write. I write because I never spoke. Did I say words? Of course I did. Anyone who knows me knows that I have the tendency to be verbose. Especially when I’m anxious. Or when I’m flailing. Or when I’m trying to just survive.

My life is interesting in that the very thing that sets me free is the very thing that hurt me.

My dad is a writer. And an artist. He’s very talented, one of those starving artist and tortured types… Alone, poor, full of dreams but little manifestation. I refused to let that be me. So in my dead days (buried alive) I lost all interest in creating. I didn’t paint. I didn’t draw. I lost my spark. I became lackluster. I never wrote ever, so this is a new creative endeavor for me. And this is why…

All I remember of my dad from my childhood are his aspirations to be an author. He wrote prolifically. He drew pictures to accompany his writing. He was devoted, I’ll give him that. But if you read my earlier posts, you’ll remember that my dad was less than kind to me. And often, that abuse involved his writing.

And because of that, I refuse to become my dad. I refused to write.

The problem is, if I don’t create, I still become him… Full of dreams and no manifestation.

So, when I woke up, I chose to heal it instead continuing to be a victim to it. I healed it by just choosing to do it. For me. To become ME. I don’t expect anyone to read this. I don’t care if anyone reads it. I love hearing from people who do read it! But, because I felt forced to stay silent, and then forced myself to stay silent, my noise is now SO LOUD. My healing victory is claiming this for myself and trusting that God will put it in the path of those who need to read it.

When I decided to start a blog, I was terrified. I knew I had a secret and I knew I was supposed to tell it. Torn between doing what’s best for me and what everyone else wants, I was brought to my knees. God said to my soul… They need to hear it. They will read it.

Who is they? I’m still finding out. People come out.of.the.woods. to tell me how much this resonates. How they read me telling their story. Good. I’m glad ❤️. Thankfully, I don’t need validation anymore. I don’t need anyone to tell me I’m good or that I’m okay or that I’m making good decisions. I just CHOOSE to believe the God in me who says, “you’re perfect. It’s perfect. Your heart is beautiful. Shine your light baby girl. Say what you need to say”. So, if you’re reading and it helps you, Thank God. Because he told me to. I just listened. Thankfully, it helps me too ❤️‍🔥

So I guess I’m a writer. This is part of who I am now. This is how I choose to heal. And I’ll keep healing. I’ll keep writing. I’ll keep digging up the dirt, keep digging out of my grave, until I find all my light, all my good, and all my treasure. ❤️‍🔥

Honest. Kind. Shine. XxOoXXo.