"Seeing Myself Again through My Old Journals"

In organizing the writing cabinet, a section of my home office full of my written project, I got old journals and reflective pieces that in fact I thought I had thrown inside decades-ago cleaning of old, deep personal lodging. At that moment, I tore the lined, handwritten pages in each journal and broke them into my little shredder as I sat on the hardwood floor.

Before my extinction in the journal, during some of my sleepless nights, I was tormented by the fear of another pair of eyes coming into my thoughts — many of them were dark and written only for myself. readers. Worse, I feel horrible and I am embarrassed if my wife or son is in the eyes that come from these writings. But, before I chose to erase the evidence of my less contemplation, my anger, and my rage, I sat on the floor, again, and read everything.

Learning About My Younger Self

I learned a lot about my younger self, because some of my prose came from a period of time when I was 40, an hour when my youngest was still in high school; a time when both of my parents were alive; and an hour my dear friend Marion called me on the daily update before she, too, suddenly passed away still too young.

I read about my hardships, challenges, my whole and often overwhelming life as a wife, mother, daughter, and full-time professor with hours of paperwork at night. All these papers took large pieces from me, and my tiring days were emphasized by a line I drew in my journal, one that really took my breath away as I read it for twenty years that passed: I learned to live under the radar of my own life.

At the time, I could only see so many fragmented pieces of myself — so much so that my emotional existence was in question. If I only had a clear vision to tell myself that while I was in the thick of it all (including all the roles I carried), this is what life is all about — juggling the dimensions that make us complete despite the hardship. Ironically, I am not aware that these experiences — these considered challenges are simpler times.

Being Fully Present - First and Center

Now, my life is full, however due to age, growth, and sadly passing some of those around me, many roles are diminishing. On the other hand, I do not live under the radar of my own life. I was completely present — first and foremost — in my senior self, a gift given to me by time. I laugh at the ease of older age, retirement, of grandparenthood while my children are free and look to me for friendship rather than advice. I never expected to write such thoughts in my journals long ago, but now I can and will do it with both relief and joy.

My younger self wrote about the storms my husband and I had, and the ones that weakened us, but we were not destroyed. I lived my own education and I realized that there is beauty and an inner peace in a lasting relationship, one in which we can both say, “Do you remember the time when our main water pipes exploded? when we brought Brian (our third) home from the hospital and we had no extra money to fix them? ”Now, we smiled, but then, we cried.

Right now, there is comfort in our struggles in the struggle and in our immense joy, but my writing often shows the frustration of a younger husband that the husband simply does not understand. Twenty years later the dramatic ramblings were far from the truth, for years it showed me that he always understood me. Peace fell upon us as we remembered the struggles we had left.

Writing Struggles and Advances

Another old journal reflects my passionate struggle with my writing. I was troubled by what to write about, because I wanted to write a book, but nothing was clear yet on the subject. My reflections are clear, though: I want to help others and write from my heart. I want to be a journey for others and for me.

I prayed for guidance in helping me on the subject. The following year, I started writing my book When Will I Be Beautiful? A Replacement of the Child's Travel to Healing. I enjoy fulfilling my goal of helping others, and readers comment on the popularity of the book’s themes. Ten years ago, I had no way of knowing that, as I wrote the little piece of my book each day, I could see my direction and a dream come true through my prose.

And, finally, my writing from a long time reflects a common theme that I have drawn throughout my life: never feeling good enough (clearly reflected in the title of my book). I write in logic as well, telling myself that these are old tapes and need not be believed. Although I can accept the intellectual that such thoughts are invalid, they are still my feelings, but the "voices" are now quieter than in the past, so I am grateful for my progress.

Reading my old journals explains how far I am and how much I am contained in my own skin. Although reasoned to say that "life is a journey," the writing suggests the validity of such a phrase. Most of all, I enjoyed getting to know my younger self through my writings, so that he could continue to teach me about my progress. I recognize him as I hold back the pieces of my letter that are just for my eyes.