Direction.

I’m still trying to find my footing and a sense of direction (if not purpose) for this whole blogging experiment. Five weeks and a dozen and a half posts later and I still find myself unsure of the next step. Or maybe it will be a leap. I just don’t know for sure.

A friend asked what prompted me to start writing about addiction and if that was my plan when I started the blog. The question surprised me a bit because, even though I’ve written every word and knew full well that a few of them were about that experience specifically, I hadn’t been overly cognizant of the developing theme. Strange, I know.

I guess I find myself writing about my experiences with a loved one’s addiction because in the telling, there is healing. More than a little of this urge is also because, when we were at the worst point in our journey to hell and back, I wish someone would have been able to pull me aside and tell me some of these things. Maybe I would have listened, maybe I could have heard. I find myself writing about these experiences because my experience tells me that addiction lurks and grows in the shadows. I don’t want to be a contributor to those shadows any longer. It’s important to me, to her, to us. I find myself writing about these experiences with addiction because, as my beloved Prius-driving cousin would say, it’s become “my truth.” I hate it when a Prius owner is right.

I’m still not ready to declare any sort of official direction. Not that it would matter if I did. Mostly, my only goal is the same as it was when I started. I want to push myself to be honest in a way that goes beyond my usual I’m-willing-to-tell-you-the-hard-truth modus operandi. I’m searching for the kind of unflinching honesty that brings with it a certain measure of vulnerability. And I’m hoping that in that scary vulnerability, there can be healing, too.

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2 responses to “Direction.

  1. I hated (and still hate) the reality that my truth is wrapped up in being a caregiver. I wish I was writing about some new way of understanding faith, or theology, or something “academic” or “earth-shattering.” But no. I’m writing about me. You’re writing about you. Let’s just keep writing.

    • Yeah, we don’t get to pick our truths, apparently. That said, from what I’ve read of your reflections on being a caregiver, I know that it can be just as important as any “academic” nonsense you could write. Appreciate the feedback, Bethie.

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