Those Scars On Your Arms Tell Your Truth; A letter to my Grace, things I wish I could say

Dear Grace,

I look at the skin that has grown up and around the wounds you have all along your arms and legs. I see your truth. I see your pain and those emotions you have expressed in your own way. Although who am I to say I know your truth when, for so many years, I buried mine in alcohol and antidepressants. I know this, my Grace, I have taught you to keep it all in. And as a result, your pain kept all deep inside of you has built up into tremendous heat. You have found a way to relieve yourself of this pain by taking those razors you hide under your bed or carefully placed in the books on your shelf  into your hand. You slash your arms and legs to let out the pain, to release the heat of all those emotions.

Saying sorry to you seems unjust, ugly and so little of me, but those are the words that slip from my mouth quietly moving quickly through these hands and onto this page.

I am sorry, I am so sorry. I am sorry for hurting you through my angry words. I wish I could do things differently. I thought I was. My reactions to act as a caring mother have led to unruly, unkempt expressions of  control and rage when all it really was – was fear, my fear, fear of losing you or fear of you getting hurt.

So today, my Grace, I am going to hit that pause button and listen, listen carefully to you and get out of your way. Today, I am going to honor your strength, to acknowledge that you have lived the toughest year of your life. I honor that you have found your own way of letting go of those emotions with those razors hidden under your bed. You have found your way to heal and your wounds that are more visible than most people’s. I will gaze at those scars with love and amazement because those scars tell me your truth. I trust in your path. Just stay alive, just live.


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