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There is a fine line between telling your story and not telling the whole story and that is exactly what I am struggling with at the moment. I have so much to tell, but I’m not the only person in my story. I keep going back to one of my favorite quotes:

“You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better.” – Anne Lamott

Easier said than done. I know I can’t wait until everyone dies before I write about them, but I do know that if my first husband were still alive, there are many things on this blog that wouldn’t be here. That would be a case of self-preservation.

I’m not talking about that extreme, but when I began toying with the idea of writing my story I was very concerned how my son would feel about what I wrote about his father. The picture is far from pretty and there are many details he knows nothing about. We talked about it and he said, “It’s YOUR story, mom. Write it.”

I feel I need to write what brought me to that traumatic time in my life. I don’t want to sugarcoat it. I didn’t have a terrible childhood or awful parents, but relationships are complicated, and while there is absolutely NO ONE to blame about what choices I made as an adult because I believe we are all responsible for our own lives and I have ZERO patience for people who want to blame others for the shit that happens to them (taking a breath and sorry for the run-on sentence), there was a path I followed and I want to write about my path without hurting those I love.

Yeah, them!

Yeah, them!

By the way, my father is perfect, and how I ended up marrying someone so completely opposite from him is, well, who the fuck knows?

Even day to day blogging would be fun because my mother has never had much of a filter and as she has gotten older, there is absolutely none. Not long ago she asked me this about Mike’s kids, “Why do they live with you? Why don’t they live with their mother?” Needless to say I raised my voice slightly in my response to her.

As much as she likes Mike, she is still having a hard time processing my life. She’s not quite sure of the “older woman, younger guy thing.” She’s still upset about my (second) divorce.

Okay, so what I just wrote right there about my mom was EXTREMELY difficult for me. Please, don’t anyone show my mother this blog.



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Gretchen L. Kelly, Author

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