Wednesday 10 September 2014
I submitted a document request to the Culpeper Department of Social Services on two separate occasions, the first time in November of 2009 and the second time about a year later. I finally received a call from them – one of my former social workers, actually – within the first quarter (March?) of 2011. She said that my records were purged at the Culpeper office but that the Charlottesville Department of Social Services might have them, so I should forward my request there. I did so several months later on Wednesday 31 August 2011, and I received a package about 6″ thick in the mail shortly thereafter.
For the next few years, the documents – a collection of case notes of social-workers, police reports of child abuse, foster care service plans and reviews, along with a variety of other documents pertaining to the social-work related services rendered for me and my family – were put away until I had time to sort everything. Every now and then, I would glance through them, cry as painful memories penetrated my being, and return them to their designated file until I was ready once more to be overwhelmed by grief that I had buried deeply beneath the dunes of my history.
Last week, I finally sorted the entire stack and shredded what I didn’t want to keep for my autobiography. I set aside the remaining stack of paper, now about 2″ thinner, to type up to add as appendixes. So, that’s where I am with that – still trying to find time to type thousands of words for my autobiography.
Wednesday 9 December 2015
I’ll be 25-years-old (a quarter of a century!) next month. This impending “milestone” birthday has caused me to seriously reflect on and analyze my life so far – past and present – and plan for the future. Seriously. I’ll no longer be considered a “young adult” but an official “adult.” I’ll be expected to be more responsible and make less childish decisions and mistakes from here on out, or at least that’s what I expect of myself.
As an official adult, one of my primary goals is to openly share my story with others – especially with the ones who’ve broken like I have been – in order to be an encouragement to them as they journey through life. I’ve wanted to write my autobiography since after I started my Life Book with my social worker when I was about seven or eight years old, with a wax in motivation to do so as one season of life faded into the next. This is one of those times that I seriously need to take advantage of while it lasts, because time is waning and I want to make my remaining days count.
May beauty rise from the ashes of a scarred life.
Tuesday 12 January 2016
Sittin’ here with a hot cup of creamy Earl Grey tea, trying to get motivated to work on my online autobiographical journal. I’ve felt God’s calling to share my story with others since I was a little girl, but I end up quitting every time I try to write it.
It’s hard to recall the painful memories that have been buried underneath the dunes of my history. The pain becomes too real, too ugly and unpleasant for my heart to bear in that moment as those memories flood back into my mind and take over my emotions.
But I know He wants to use my story as a beacon of light to the hope only He brings. He wants to show how He can take the ashes of a broken life and turn them into a thing of beauty. It’s time to stop procrastinating because it’s tough. Time is running out and I want to make mine count for His glory. Time to surrender.