Ruffled, rattled, and flustered from my own hand, mind, and heart today. I met with some special cronies, my monthly favorite confidantes, who discuss goals, offer advice, inspire, and lend a listening, loyal ear. My share includes my success within the fitness community, staying true to my path, committed to transform and heal the inner brokenness that remains shattered. Shards shadow my path, await mending of the past, and a cleanse of my spirit.

Yet today my first memoir resurfaced, my completed first draft submitted for perusal a year ago, practically to the day. Engaged in the draft writing process after meeting with my editor then, just as suddenly, as if a line had cris-crossed along my heart, I stalled abruptly. My stamina halted, the momentum waned, and I sat mysteriously wondering what happened for days, trying to retrieve what once shined, but now lay deep in despair.

His response about forgiveness for my mother’s actions, he claimed was incredulous. Yet although I am certain I have fully forgiven her, what piece of my story lacked integrity. What lay beneath the pages that lacked synchronization with the rest of the tale? To revisit my memoir, my life, my past would have delved further beneath the surface than I was willing to travel at the time.

Yet as I stated today, I shall return to retrieve the ashes I lay, burned into my book, for a later visit. My timing first necessitates full healing, a knowing that I have arrived at self-acceptance, self-worth, and self-love. When that clock ticks of a knowing, I shall retrieve my story and tell its true ending. Until then, as my great friend to my right shared today, I will remain patient until the knowing comes.