When I was little.... cuts and bruises were a sign of adolescence, of our ignorance... of freedom. We might have feared something, but we'd never let each other know that. Cuts were cool... but most importantly, the bruises got the boys ;)
In my early 20's (how painful it is that I can refer to them as the "early 20's") bruises came from the hands of a man who used fear to use me. Bruises became.... cliche... covered up by clothes, covered up by make-up.... covered up by lies. Bruises became a sign of my weakness. Something I used to wear as a badge of honor when I was young... even when I was a teenager had turned into silence. I lived with bruises in quiet.
I didn't boast.
I didn't show them off.
As much time as I spent hiding them from everyone, I spent hiding them from myself.
When I became a mommy of a little guy.. bruises became a way of life. Bruises turned into hugs, and kisses on scrapped knees...
Today I realized the impact of bruises on the heart.
I guess it's hard to explain that... and if I tried, for all the many reasons I'm feeling this way, this blog would be a novel.
I sat there today... staring at my phone. I literally watched the time count down to the moment I could get my little guy. I don't think I've ever been so determined to see him in my life.
I went plowing through the day care like a bull in a china shop...... the second I saw him, tears pouring down his face.
I wanted to be strong. I wanted to pretend that my heart didn't hurt... that I was ok. Instead a million bad decisions just ran down my face. I realized my whole entire world was hurting, and I couldn't hold it back. No matter how I wanted to.
Part of me just wanted to tell him it was going to be ok.. but I didn't even have the words to lie. I realized how insane I must have looked standing in the middle of legos.... crying.
I need some inspiration.
