Coming up with a cheesy one liner doesn’t seem appropriate for this.
When the person who decided to report me to CPS took a random chunk from my blog about how I cannot take care of our basis needs ie: grocery store and pharmacy. It was totally taken out of context. To the blog as a whole and to that specific part of my life.
The premise of the blog was “feeding your neighbor” it was part of Esther Emery’s link up for April. What I wrote about was that, without a car it makes it the things like going to the grocery difficult. Yet in that very same blog I explained how we have all these awesome people who give us rides.
This person completely missed the point,
I explain that to the case worker and explain that reading the whole blog would help.
The basis for the investigation is that I don’t provide Abigail’s needs, such as food and safety. Well food we’ve got and stocked cabinets.
The questions of my safety and mental health sting more than others.
When discussing my mental health I get very passionate about how I was treated growing up. Thrown into therapy and on meds as a young child. I apologized for my defensiveness and I explained everything to her.
The person who filed also mentioned my suicide attempts and cutting. As if they are active things I am taking part in. I almost laughed. I haven’t even thought about either of those since 2005. Again I was honest, but whoever it was they don’t know me because I am open and honest about those parts of my life.
I am open and honest about my past. There’s no reason not to be.
My past is checkered and marred with abuse, neglect, being abandoned more than once. I have made huge changes because of getting off of drugs and finding my identity as a child of Christ.
And then I got pregnant. My life was altered. I have shared this many times. Our lives have been difficult for the last two years and getting on our feet is a struggle. But I have known more joy, more peace and more intimacy with God.
He has been faithful, always. So have the people in my community. The women that were a part of the writing community I belonged to that raised the money for Abigail and I could go to Austin for thanksgiving. Coming home our suite case was stolen from the baggage claim in Denver. I had EVERYTHING in it. These ladies pulled together and sent money, replacement items and love. Always love.
I feel demolished in spirit especially after checking myself into the psychiatric hospital so that I could get myself straightened out after I was raped. That was done out of love for myself and Abigail and to have that questions as I attempted suicide, that’s why I was really there.
I can assure you it’s not.
I have a feeling no matter who is it, it will feel like a betrayal; because whomever I shared those words with; I shared them because I openly trusted them with where I was at in life. And we have had some rough year.
Now I feel like I cannot be as open and unfiltered as I was before and that makes me sad, its part of who I am. I am the goofy one with the funny stories. I have serious stories to share also; that is why I started my blog. I plan on continuing to write because of this:
I stumbled onto your blog & just completely fell into it. This is no exaggeration– I was up until 4:00 a.m. this morning reading (& re-reading, in awe) your posts.
Your voice, your tenacity, & your courage are remarkable. I’m just at a loss for words to express how very beautifully your heart shines through your writing.
Although you didn’t ask, I would like to contribute to your Portland trip. How can I make that happen? Do you or your friend Rachel have a PayPal account?
I’m a middle school Special Education teacher, so I’m not exactly flush with cash, but the portion of fishes & loaves I do have are a blessing from above, & they are meant to be shared. His grace & abundance are meant to be multiplied, right?
Thank you for sharing your heart. I hope for you an outpouring of grace & peace, & safe passage for you & A on your journey.
Then yesterday morning I got this email and it caused me to realize why I tell and will continue to tell my story.