Every day is a new day. Some are harder and some are better.
Even if my book were not to be published (which it will be) this is such an important process. I wrote in my last post about how helpful it is to get things from the inside out and that is so true. I can imagine my story in the skin of someone else and I can have empathy for her.
I hold myself to such a high standard that I have very little grace when I make mistakes or am struggling. I see all the ways I don’t measure up and unfurl them on banners in my mind. They cast doubt on my big dreams and ambitions. They threaten to undermine the truths I have worked so hard to uncover who I am.
When I look at people who have not experienced trauma I have no problem feeling compassion for them, and so much more for those who have lived events that shattered their security. I am one of those people. I have experienced multiple trauma but I find the grace jar empty when it comes time to pour it out for myself. Writing my story has put together a skeleton, muscle, tissue and tendon on a beautiful young girl. I can see why she would make all the mistakes she did and why some things are harder for her. I can see that the measurement I use for others is a balance unfairly tipped when it comes to myself.
She deserves just as much grace as given to others.
She deserves the same encouragement given to others.
She deserves the respect given to others.
She deserves as much love as given to others.
She deserves all those things from me first and then from others as well. And whether it feels like it or not, that’s the standard I am going to live by because she is worth it.
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