I’m in the middle of writing memoir 3 and wrote for hours yesterday.

Patterns emerged.  

I saw that in my late teens/early 20’s I was desperate to latch onto an intact family.  I overlooked emotional abuse, betrayal and manipulation just to belong to an unbroken family.  Never knowing why before, I blamed myself for being so stupid.  For not recognizing the signs of abuse and advanced alcoholism.

But yesterday, I was able to forgive the 20-something me; to shed tears for her.  She did the best she knew how at the time.

Writing does that.  It opens wounds from the past.  Allows us to see them, understand how they got there, and how we can move forward and heal them.