Personal Narrative: An Enduring Struggle Of Loss And Loss

But as I make meaning of the story that my life encapsulates – I was a damaged soul, damaged by abuse by my own father. I can't even say I have a father, because I grew up without knowing what father's love felt like. My earthly father had a gambling problem and had multiple affairs outside of marriage. The pains of my childhood robbed me of my identity, confidence, security, trust in men, joy of living and believe in myself. I struggled greatly even as I grew into adulthood, but, God has healed me, and He is still healing and redeeming me from the wounds of my past. Through many challenges in life, as I grew into adulthood, I find myself asking Him, “God, why, oh God, why do you give me such an emotionally challenging childhood?” Though I did not receive a clear answer all these years but he taught me one thing, and that is to live my life with open hands, to allow God, the Author to do what He so choose to do. It is He, God, the Master of my life, and as for me, to live a life surrendered to my Master. Only then, did I realise that that's how I am able to taste his endless richness of His grace. God has redeemed me and has blessed me so much. Today, I can say that I am blessed and I give thanks to God. Now that I am here, in SBC, studying this work of Benner, it is totally sobering to be called into the work of soul care. Having taken the journey that I have, this reckoning gives me true meaning of what I have experienced in my past; it is that

The Things They Carried by Tim O’Brien and Song of Myself by (author) follow two diverse men on two diverse journeys that led them to self discovery. As one was forced and the other was a chosen path, they both served the same purpose. As these two men embarked on their journeys a lesson shone through. We were taught to accept what comes out way, positive or negative, because every journey is a lesson and it can lead us to self

Letting go of one's children happens inch by inch over many years so that when it finally happens, that last quarter inch is not so hard. Letting go of anger is a giant rebounding from the intensity of my anger, lifting me up with the air, weightless, rocking me softly as feathers sprung loose, rushing me along like blossoms in the spring wind, dropping me as gently as snowflakes falling. Letting go of past dreams and hopes requires more effort, but i can do it, and once I've taken that icy plunge, there's nothing like the invigoration of it, and nothing like pushing off from shore into the deeper waters, slowly rolling over on one's back and getting that sun-slanted view of mountains and arching sky. But letting go of pain is a mirror image

Something shifted in me listening to the stories of pain of two very formative people in my life. Something inside of me recognized the sacredness of this conversation. Once I heard

In this story “A Long Way Gone”, Ismeal Beah learned to suppress his emotional and physical pain. Those suppressions were played out in many locations in this story. One example of this was in page 11 when Ismeal Beah saw his father, who he had not seen in a while, returning from work. That day when Ismeal's father saw him he gave him a smile and was about to utter something out, but quickly turned away as Ismeal's stepmother came out. Ismeal was then very sad but held in his tears. Another example from the story was on page 45 , when an elder stood up and prayed to the gods and ancestors; he prayed that Ismeal’s family will always be together. A final example was on page 89, when everyone started to sob except for Ismeal , but later on he sat by

Almost everyone faces a deep tragedy in their life that shakes their foundation of being. Usually in the face of such a loss, one pushes it to a deep crevice of one's mind in an attempt to continue life as before. Loren Eiseley's essay, The Brown Wasps, speaks to those who have faced loss, telling them that no matter how hard one tries to repress a significant memory, the thought will never fully leave.

Their laughter was my misery. The tears were pouring off my face and as my eyes filled with more, all sight seemed to disappear. But I kept running and made my way for the Undying Forest.

Their eyes felt as if they were burning a hole in my heart. Gasping for air and looking for retrieval, there was no escape. Forcing myself up and running as fast and as far as possible, somehow still manage to come back to where I had started. Why me? Why me? Why do these dark eyes always manage to find its way back? Everyday waking up with a sense of hate boiling within while letting out steam from my ears. The hate for oneself never seen on the outer appearance because it was hidden in a dungeon deep within without a key to open. These dark eyes could be mine or yours. Whose eyes are they?

he inconceivable and horrifying moment that hope and pray not to come about, unexpectedly, it gruesomely happened. Your untimely impetuous passing brought sadness in happiness, wounded the loving heart and pained the whole journey. And as years went by, giving credence to fate would be impossible to realize. For the reason that, deep inside still cries for your existence.

The necklace suddenly felt like it had stabbed her. She looked around, the pain making her wince. To her left, she saw him. The man who looked like Crash from earlier, but this time with an enormous figure beside him. Burn. The burning from the cat’s eye combined with what she was seeing made her cry. What are they doing here? Where are they going? Are they ok? As much as she wanted to get the answers to her questions, the truth overpowered. Sora knew that she couldn’t go to them. She knew they were busy and she was a burden. After all that is why they left her. They were so close, but they didn’t tell me. Even if she wanted to she felt frozen in place and it was so sudden. It almost seemed like they were only there for a single second in time. Before Sora could blink properly, once again they disappeared. Just like that day 3 years ago when they left, the tears flowed down her

end coming, an end to my agony and pain, but i pity those left alive once i finally lose my sanity. i glanced at the memoirs written once again as i sent it to

Nights can sometimes be overwhelming, when you feel like crying but I hear an angel and to my ears she says softly, “Mommy everything will be all right”. Years of sweetness have now been replaced by bitterness. My home has been stricken by false misfortunes and difficulties. The ones that any ordinary family could ever bear. Through the years I have found some refuge, a lightning bolt who always knew me and who always believe in me. Yes, he was my lightning bolt and my spear- the kind that would provide, protect and respect nevertheless a receptacle of love for me and my angel. But now my lightning bolt and spear have been taken away from me. A decision I cannot even discuss nor tell my daughter. I do not know if Kafka was right about the Plague, I should have listen, I should have been more aware and conscious. My house has been shattered into so many different pieces, the ones I cannot piece together. Still I am fortunate to have my angel right by my side, she comforts, she heals and she wipes away my tears. How can justice be not fair? How can life be not just? How can days be not brighter? These are a few questions that are left stranded in my thoughts. Questions that are often left in bed while I am sleeping. The so many sleepless nights, worries, restlessness and even deprivation. These issues are non-confronting but yet are visible and aggressive like tigers in the night. My voice is light and unresponsive towards these furor. I look at myself in the mirror

My parents once told me that there are moments that can shape you, like getting your first pair of ballet shoes or lacrosse stick. But what they unwittingly neglected to mention, were the emotionally gripping experiences that can affect a person during their lifetime.

“Starting a quarrel is like breaching a dam; so, drop the matter before a dispute breaks out.” Proverbs 17:14 NIV. Inner emotions can either tear us down or help us grow stronger. The Story of an Hour follows the feelings of bondage. The Interlopers follows the feelings of pride. Going through the mix of emotions, conflict, and deaths of two different situation can bring about more than what you expected.

despair in their eyes, their hope of love snatched from them, the look I will never forget to this day. The piece of both my parents’ lives that became whole once she was born was now taken away.