After my latest post, a person dear to me asked me to stop. I know why she asked, but I couldn’t share her sentiments. She’s dealt with all this and has put it behind her. Call me a late bloomer, but I’m just now beginning to deal with my childhood. So I’m ready to open up this Pandora’s box. I’m ready to face the abuse my mother, sisters and I experienced at the hands of our well-respected Sheikh of a father. I’m ready to open up about it to not only myself, and the faceless readers that happen upon my blog, but also to my family and my friends. I’m ready to share my experiences in order to maybe help others who are still dealing with what I had to deal with. I’m ready.
But she isn’t. If it were anyone else, I would laugh in their face and keep on going. But this person means the world to me and so keeping on isn’t going to only hurt her. But it will also hurt me.
Though I tried to explain to her why I need to write all this here, she doesn’t get why we should stir up what’s already done. And I can’t explain to her how this is helping me heal.
So my method of healing isn’t convenient. But my upbringing wasn’t either.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that I must continue writing. I won’t lie about my experiences or make them fit a G-rating. I won’t live a double life like I was raised to. I have to be honest. And honesty often hurts.