I wonder what your story is ? Not just the story of the past few years. Not just the story that begins at the point where you messed up or it all went wrong, or the terrible awful happened. No the story before that time. The story of the good times.
When I think of ‘my past’ I’ve been falling into the trap of only going back a few years to the time my own ‘terrible awful’ took place (readers of The Help will now have a very particular image in their minds ! sorry 🙂 ). The painful events of that time, when marriage vows were broken and the pain was unbearable, stand in my memory like a huge mountain, and it’s hard to see past it.
I have children. Before they were born I had time to make things, and no.1, and the cousins who preceded her, were all made rather beautiful blankets as a welcome gift. I began no.2’s blanket a few months before her birth, and then, well , life. The blanket has remained unfinished for more than a decade. It sits in a bag in my wardrobe, a reminder of lovingly made preparations for a much loved child.
Yesterday, under pressure from my children, I got out some of the things I made in those long gone days. They were admired and my youngest in particular was incredulous having had no idea that I could make things! I took out the blanket and although the pattern has faded over the years, and it’s a little hard to work out where exactly I am in a rather complex piece of work I began again. By the time I went to bed it was a little bit bigger and a little bit more beautiful.
It felt so good to pick up this bit of my past. To remember what life was like all those years ago. To see my life as an arc rather than a line. You see an arc goes over the mountain, a little bit like a rainbow, and I can see now that my past encompasses all of my past. I don’t need to see it as fragmented or broken. It’s continuous and I am still who I was, as well as who I now am. A little bigger and a little bit more beautiful.