I haven't done much journaling over the past year and a half. Though pain and mourning have been steady companions, I've tried not to entertain them for too long. I can't stop their inevitable visits throughout the day, but do try to usher them back out rather than hang around chatting.
DiDi has urged me to journal about it however. Multiple times. She said it will help me process the grief, and could be useful for my kids to read in later years.
I've resisted, thinking it will keep me in a place of pain more of the time, when I'm supposed to be focusing on all of the wonderful positives of this season of my life.
She's right of course.
I realized that my journal doesn't reflect what I've been going through. My posts in it have dwindled, usually just notes focusing on what happened at church. It tells little about my mind and heart and life. If my kids do want to understand this confusing phase later, say after my death, I won't have left much behind to help them.
And so I began yesterday.
I'll probably be at it for a while, just to catch up. Not to mention keeping pace with the issues that don't seem to stop as this divorce grinds slowly toward its finale.
It's not the type of writing that I want to do. But it is necessary.
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