My former spouse reminded me of a remark I had made about her almost ten years ago. This was one of many damaging comments I made about my wife while we were married.


It’s important to realize that when we’re not mindful, words can become daggers that cut into the souls of someone else’s heart. Once we vocalize our faulty thoughts, we can never take them back. We leave shotgun sized holes in a person’s psyche that may never heal.


And sometimes, that person is us.


These stories become the poison that kills the inner child.


These injuries are brought into interactions with family and friends. They’re carried into relationships. They are passed down to children.


This cycle of pain continues from generation to generation, from person to person. People suffer. Society suffers.


There is a solution. It takes persistence. It takes time. It takes courage.


We may uncover parts of ourselves we don’t wanted to face. It may even mean we have to change.


Sometimes we must step into the dark to appreciate the light; experience the winter storms to cherish the summer.

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I’ve noticed that it’s been hard to stay in the present these past couple of days. I’ve been thinking about my past talk with Rafiki. I’ve been rereading my blogs (including the many that I’ve yet to post).


My mind keeps going back to the fear about my former spouse’s response when she reads some of my past stories.


I struggle with the thought that my writing was wrong, that it was a mistake.


Ok, not the actual writing. That has been healing for me.


I’m struggling that it was a mistake to publish it for the world to see. That I aired my dirty laundry at the expense of my former spouse; without her consent.


I want to call Rafiki, but I’m a bit humbled by our last conversation. I don’t really want to go there today. I need to process some of this on my own.

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(Disclosure: Some of this reading may be triggering and sound childish. This piece was a process for me. Please read ALL the way through to the end before commenting. Thanks.)


As I’m going through the process of grieving my divorce I need to acknowledge the feeling I’m having today. This one feeling is one that I shy away from. I don’t like it. It’s the emotion that I grew up with. It reminds me of my step-father’s spontaneous rages. This emotion is the one I fear from both others and myself.




As much as I don’t like the feeling of anger, I have a way of letting it grow and fester in me. Instead of dealing with it, I let it eat me up from the inside. And, as it devours me, I get more annoyed that I can’t control it.


I want it to stop. I want to shove it deep down so I don’t have to experience it. I want to kick it to the curb. I want it out of me.


If you try to stop a moving freight train with just your two hands you’re going to get crushed. Holding in anger is like trying to hold back a 5,000 ton locomotive.


It’s like hearing the backfire of a car that’s not burning fuel evenly. My anger reminds me of the car in the movie Uncle Buck, right before he picks up his niece from the party with Gnat (bonus points if anyone remembers that boy’s real name). It’s detonation; where too much fuel is introduced into the carburetor and instead of a smooth-running engine, the engine pops and crackles due to mini explosions.


That’s what’s happening today; tiny outbursts that erupt over the simplest things.


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