We will rise.

My past is a long and sordid tale. I'd buried half of it so deep inside that those memories hadn't crossed my mind in years and sometimes decades. I'd venture a guess that I don't know even 5% of the trials my grandparents endured. Each time I'm made privy to some new confession (about an older or deceased family member by a younger one who was one of only a few let it on the secret), I'm shocked that it wasn't something we talked about within our own families. Rape and incest and abuse? Check, check, check. When talking with friends, I hear the same tales. Grandma so-and-so was molested by her brother for five years. Aunt such-and-such was raped by a close family friend for a decade. My Grandma's cousin Susie-Q was raped by a date and her mom told her to keep it to herself like a good girl.


A slow self-destruction courtesy of social media

I know I used to write on this blog pretty frequently. Often, the topics were congenial or trivial. Mom stuff, you know. As I pursued my business, I had less and less time for personal writing. Some days I wish I were better at balancing motherhood and business ownership while continuing in my pursuits of hobbies that bring me joy, but for now, I have to settle on work being the hobby that brings me joy. I know that in a few years, as the kids get older, I'll have more time for the pursuit of things that set my soul on fire.

Sometimes, though, things get so heavy or concerning that the only way I know to cope is to write. Lately, that's all I've done, I know. I apologize to those (two) of you still actually reading my blog who don't do heavy blog posts or hot topics. This is what I've got to offer right now.