I have been wanting to do this for so long. I thought I would have no followers, readers, or the time. I have now decided it doesn’t matter whether one person or a million ever read anything here at Beautifully Broken. It’s for me. It’s to help me through my own journey. A journey to healing. I know there are so many men and women all over the world who are struggling with many of the same things I am. Maybe, just maybe this blog can be a source of comfort and support to all of those out there who are beautifully broken. We are who we are. We desire healing and freedom from whatever may be holding us prisoner.
I will start of by just a few thoughts:
- Everything here is REAL. It’s a place for me to vent and get things out.
- I have always loved writing and now I am using it as a source of therapy.
- I am not here to bash anyone I write about. I may choose to change names.
- Somethings might be hard to read, but I bet those things are harder for me to write about.
- I am who I am.
- I am beautifully broken.
There is so much going on in my life right now that I really don’t know where to start, so that only leaves the beginning.
My mother was a senior in high school when she found out I was pregnant. My dad was 21 and a high school drop out. Sounds like a fairy tale beginning, right? It was the mid 80’s and good times and cocaine were abundant. My grandparents seemed oblivious to my mom’s “good times”, or perhaps they just pretended everything was fine. They were well known in the community and Southern Baptist. No, nothing could be wrong with their family. They were so close to perfection. My grandfather was a proud man, selfish and greedy on the inside, but to others he was the epitome of a hard working southern man. My grandmother was very involved in the church, relied on my grandfather for everything, and sadly was never really happy in my opinion. Their story is one for another time.
My parents were married before anyone found out she was pregnant. I think back now and wonder if my grandparents were that ashamed of the situation,their “perfect” family suddenly not so perfect. Not to mention my dad’s family wasn’t as successful and well off as my grandparents thought they were, so there’s another strike against my dad. I have no doubt my parents loved each other. My dad was crazy about my mom and she was in love with him too, but they were both so young. They hadn’t lived yet and now they had a baby, me.
It’s clear now. My conception was the beginning of the end.