I made a choice some time ago. The conscious active kind that always holds more weight then you even expect. The choice was a simple one; to not be a woman who only talks about the
lack. I had spent to long watching (and being) a single women who could only talk about what wasn't. I was tired of watching it make those around miserable. And more tired of missing life in the waiting. So I chose. The
result is I have had incredible adventures, and experiences with God I
wouldn't exchange for the world. But it also means there are things I
don't speak about, even to my journal. I have never even tried to articulate the ache that has gradually settled into my chest. What would be the point?
A dear friend sent me a link this week. A blog she thought I might enjoy, even if it did hit close to home. It isn't every day I read my heart in someone else's words, the good and the bad of it. I was crying by the end, suddenly aware of the personal cost of my choice. "There are stories we
consume in the telling...And there are stories that consume us when they're not
told" - Chuck Palahnuik
So since I will never be able to say it better:
http://sayable.net/2012/03/sleeping-alone/
