you are your stories


it’s a little bit amazing that people read what i write.  that they like it and want to share it.  many times people will tell me that after they read a post i’ve written, they don’t know how to respond.

they agree.  they think it’s beautiful.  they cried.  but they don’t have words to respond with or get intimidated to respond.

now that’s silly.


the world is full of beauty.

and your story – your perspective, it’s beautiful, too.  i want to start meeting some of you lovely people out there.  i want to hear your stories.  i want to hear your side.

so i’m going to start a monday link-up.

think of it as a writing challenge or a prompt.  possibly for some of you, it may be a challenge to start a blog period.  pick it up.  take the challenge.  if you have words in you, let me hear them. this is a great beginning a blog resource.  or if you’re an old hat at this blog business than consider my page another place to talk out loud.



as far as prompts…well that’s a good question.

the impetus behind this is to get to know you better.  so what if we made it a semi-confessional space?  too much?  how about a memory space?

good, bad or ugly – common or extreme.  the memories that we carry, a moment we just saw that we can’t shake.  it’s all right here.  we are made of so many stories…take some time and give us one of yours.  we could even give it a cutesy title like “memories on monday.”

i like that.  sort of.

i’ll go first…

when i showed up at her house, i’d made a big mistake.  i trusted her completely.  i didn’t know her from eve, but since other people loved her i assumed that she’d be a new best friend to be sure.

it started off badly.

my children didn’t like the lunch she prepared and she chided me when she found out it was my birthday.

“you should have told me!  i could have made something.”

and i don’t know why but i just started spilling.  i told her my story in waves and i had absolutely no filter, i was honest to a fault because i believed that when i was done that i would land in a safe place.

instead there was silence.

there was no reciprocal motion of extending her own story, her own struggles.  and i figured it out right quick.  oh.  oh ok.

mazzy was a baby with down syndrome at that point.  a toddler who was about as far from child trained as we could get.  i didn’t know what i didn’t know at that point.  but that wasn’t the case for this woman and her kids.  her son pointed out that mazzy was bad when she touched something i told her not to.

“no, honey.  she’s not bad.  she’s just made a bad choice.”

she said it while we sat in her basement playroom and i had trouble breathing.  she’s making bad choices.  maybe i’m making bad choices.  we’re bad.  they’re good.  why had i said so much?  i’ve got so many things wrong today, i thought.  so many things wrong.

that was the beginning of a long journey of trying to fit in as a parent.  it took years for me to understand that i wasn’t going to be able to.  but that afternoon stays clear in my mind, in my heart.

it’s one of my many stories.

how about you?

tell me one of yours?

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