[ 1 min read ]
I believe writing saved me. I lashed out sometimes but I believe it’s for the good.
I mean I’ve written some very personal things about myself and my parents but I’m almost certain that without it I would never have the awareness I have today.
I weirdly feel that if my son will want to do the same and if this will help him in his life (as it helped me) I would have no problem with that.
I would understand that he is going through a process (or might go through such process) of moving those pieces around and trying to fit them somewhere until he can see the whole picture. That he is not hurting me on purpose, but rather gaining awareness and that eventually this will lead him to something. To peace and to a better understanding of my position as his parent and my mistakes and flaws.
Just as it happened in my case. I had some serious issues with my parents (actually my adoptive parents) and at some point we (my adoptive mother and I) were even fighting in a court of law. And if you’d been through things like that forgiving doesn’t come easy. Without writing I would never stand a chance. My mother doesn’t write and I know she still has those scars, those emotional wounds that, I’m sure, won’t heal and will continue to haunt her.