I remember when my parents were leaving our old church. The whole situation was a mess but I often remember how my parents used that to talk to my sister and I about leaving our 'comfort zones'. I suppose I never understood that to it's fullest. I also remember how rumors were spread, and old friends believed them and began to talk meanly about our family. I never understood how disturbed they must have felt, or the way that affected them in their daily routine. Neither of these things became a reality to me until now. This time however, it is not my family but me, and it is not a church, but friends.
I have been hesitant to write about this. Mostly because I do my best to not let it myself think about it. But it haunts me. I dream about it every night, I do not sleep soundly. I get this sick twisted feeling in my stomach, and I want to throw up. I want my name to be cleared. I want people to believe me, to realize I'm not the bad guy here, I don't deserve that label. I cannot look at my phone without fear of a nasty text, I can't answer without fear of being screamed at. And yet I know...I did nothing.
I long for the comfort of my bed, the lick of my puppy. But these things are not available to me. I need to relax and stop being so stressed. It's the impossible task. I know I am growing and learning and for that I am truly thankful. I wish I could make my anxiety disappear but sadly I know that healing takes time. So instead I love and live. I embrace every moment and know that someday I will look back and tell my children about this. I will watch them like my own mother watches me. I will hurt as they hurt and smile as they smile. I will share in their dreams, their laughs, and their tears. I will tell them they are being molded into the man or woman God wants them to be. But until then...I will listen to my own mother tell me this and I will do my best to believe her.