My very first memory in life is my mother’s funeral.
I kind of put this out there every so often, but as I was writing something else about my relationship with women in general, I found this myself writing about her death and its effects on my life.
I don’t talk about it because just starting off with that information bums people out and I want to be good-time person. But I’ve learned so much through this, and maybe other people can too and it can help someone else somehow.
Is it still too raw for me though, 33 years later?
Have I done the work?
I’m not sure. I know just asking these questions has calmed me down immensely. As I was writing before, I think I may have been on the path to panic. Now I’m breathing deeply and am okay.
But I do think that I need to do more work before continuing with my story. Like reading a book on the subject and setting aside time to sit with and breath through these thoughts and feelings as they arise. I’ve done hundreds of hours of therapy and self-work in my life, prob thousands with the self stuff, and yet I’ve continued to skim over that “tiny detail” of my life because somehow there’s still so much more.
But it’s still such a huge deal to who I am as a person, I need to devote more time in a different way than I have in the past. Then I will come back and share.
Thank you for being here for me.