Читать книгу My Lyrical Journey: How I Painted My Heart Wide Open - Paula Jones - Страница 15

“Paula,

I find it to be ironic that while you are opening yourself to the world of your newfound humility and wisdom, I have not heard of any person having received any acknowledgement of the litany of wrongs you’ve committed against people on your way too enlightenment. No apology = No acceptance of responsibility.

Please remove me from your self-congratulatory blog.”

Wow . . . after reading this . . . it was a trip to the bathroom — just one, but one that emptied my insides. Then I backtracked, and reread. It made me think — Oh, no, . . . so dangerous for Paula to think!

There are millions and billions of us in the world who have gone through challenging times in our lives. Who did I owe apologies to? And for what exactly? No murders — pretty sure. Didn’t steal from anyone — at least as far as I remember. No embezzling. I went to friends and inquired.

“Paula, you are in the process of writing your story — I love to watch you grow.”

Okay . . .

“You were going through the end of a 25 year marriage — I watched you. Your reaction was not much different than what any of the others of us who get a divorce go through.”

“People talk and make up their own minds. After all, don’t we create our own realities?”

I went back and reviewed. Was I really that horrible of a person? Did I really leave a wake of destruction? Should I be flogged and chastised for the rest of my life?

Or is it my responsibility to myself to move forward? To accept that, even though divine, I am having a human experience, and as humans, we do not come with instruction manuals. If all of the rest of us who have made mistakes in our lives held ourselves back, we’d still be living in the Stone Age.

Six months ago, this comment would have, more than likely, sent me over the edge. I would have considered jumping off a bridge, taking pills, etc., etc. Words like that cut deep. None of us is perfect.

I do not write this for support. I do not write this to say this person was wrong. I am not writing this to elevate myself. I write this to point out the differences in people’s opinions.

Compared to what? A friend always said her Dad would quip, “Compared to what?” And what is MY reality? Does this person know that I have barely made it through these past two years; that I’ve coped with extreme bouts of depression, frequently asking “why am I even here” or “should I be allowed to live” — on a desperate search to find answers to the questions I couldn’t even formulate?

“He that is without sin among you, be the first to cast stones.” Jesus . . .

I’m not perfect.

I don’t claim to be.

But, I’m not horrible.

And, I think I am beginning to love myself.

Blessings . . .

Paula

PS . . . I have 24 finished. Painting is my respite.

Even back then, painting was opening my heart . . . even while I was being chastised by others. Now, I realize that it was about him and not about me. I’ve painted my way through many challenging times. I’ll repeat . . . painting is my respite. And, I am grateful that I have chosen to step into some uncomfortable situations to learn more about myself.