I’m tired of writing safely. The calculated and measured words written in effort to keep from offending family have been twisted. The writings of my life experiences gone unpublished have made no difference. Without being asked a single question as to why I write and believe the way I do, I am rejected in obvious ways.

It was almost a year ago that I sought counseling to unearth buried feelings due to childhood trauma. Instead of encouragement to walk through the fear, I was met with ridicule, then screaming silence.

Breaking the cycle of shame, manipulation and abuse is unwelcome. I don’t deny there were good times in my family; I’m just having a difficult time remembering them lately. I’m told that’s normal, and good memories will eventually return. I wonder when…because the memories that have most frequently filled my mind over the past year have left me in tears more often than not. And with each act of rejection, my heart aches, yet the separation becomes more bearable.

I long for peace. Yes, peace for the family; but more importantly, peace for myself if peace among the family never occurs. Peace in knowing I faced the fear and walked through it. Peace in knowing that I didn’t quit searching or writing in an effort to appease anyone. Truth be told, the appeasement would’ve only lasted a short while anyway.

I’m removing the filter of safety. My writings will be what they should’ve been for a long time now.