It’s difficult to reflect on the problems of an abusive parent when you’re in the middle of the recovery storm. I remember feelings of bitterness, anger, and resentment surfacing many times throughout my writing journey. Bitterness had taken root in my heart long before adulthood. I struggled to understand why my mother failed to protect…
I have fond memories of my father despite his flaws and the destruction caused. He tried to be a good man, served on the local fire department for years, and was honored at his funeral for service. He toiled in the fields, plowing and planting in spring, and harvesting in the fall to feed nine…
You write, reflect, and write more journal entries. In between, you check the comments for new entries and the email for a contact message, to no avail. In discouragement, you wonder; Is this stuff helping anyone? Am I wasting my time writing? You think of something else, maybe it will work to gain attention. Opening…