The list of folks that I want to write about is pages long. The list of people I don’t want to think or write about is short, but every time I open a blank page and start typing, those people pop up. I try to not have regrets, or to harbor anger. I don’t think either do much good, but I am human, and there are those people who have more space in my head than they should.
I do not feel that they deserve to be written about, no matter how much they influenced my life. That comment they made, or my heart that was broken, the promises not kept, the lies told, the raised voice, the mocking tone, that feeling of my heart sinking when I heard what they had done, the missed birthday, the chaos they strewed, the attention they craved, the credit they took, or the love of mine they ignored and squandered.
They were friends, lovers, bosses, relatives, coworkers, teachers, and strangers.
I am still here, and I am stronger because of them. Perhaps they broke my heart back then, or perhaps I stood strong against the hurts thrown. Maybe I left in anger with doors slamming, or wept quiet tears in the bathtub. Maybe I was a child, or a teen, or a young woman. Maybe I was a grown up, who felt very much alone.
Right now, I am a woman in my mid 40s, and it is powerful to know that I can set those who who left those bruises on my heart aside. I can speak of those hurts without hurting, because I know that I am who I am because of them, but mainly because of the people on the other list. Those who picked me up, who listened, who comforted, who advised, who laughed, who fed me dinner, who validated, who mentored, who stayed–they are the ones who really helped me become me.
Snapshots of Them 
Leave a comment