Unlovable and other stories of my life

I've spent the first hours of today catching up on Fahamu Pecou's blog posts. It was not an easy task. Each story shared by Pecou evoked tears I have learned to hide out of fear of seeming "un-normal" to those I know and those I've yet to meet.

Reading Pecou's candid tales of hurt, realization, healing and forgiveness have once again forced me to toy with the idea of writing a memoir. For the past year, I have gone back and forth about whether I should undertake the intimate endeavor of putting my life stories on paper.

Although, like many who make the autobiographical journey, I am sure someone, somewhere may be influenced by the events of my being.  However, more than helping others, I believe being forced to record memories I have worked hard to forget, could be a valuable first step to healing my emotional ailments.

Making the decision to expose your demons for all the world to see is a complicated resolution.

After reading the narratives of my history, will people think they know me? Will they try to put me in a box? Will they run the other way when they see me coming? Will I hurt my family by being so forthright about the ups and downs of our lives?

These questions and others run rampart through my head as I start, then stop again with each potential entry into my book of life.

I have many unfinished projects. All of them therapeutic attempts at a healthier future.  Each one sitting idle while I deal with the fear of facing the incubus that has continued to plague my personal and professional relationships.

I still haven't quite committed to starting this project, but I am getting closer to quenching an insatiable need to not only be happy, but be healthy.  The desire to thrive will surely come out the victor, no?