When my reader is empty, my to do list on hold, and my emails answered, I go through my archives and read previous posts. It doesn’t happen often, but when I do get a chance to look back I’m struck by the themes… slowing down, enjoying moments, happiness, peace, looking at the positive. And yet, I know I don’t look at life through rose colored glasses. Mine are maroon around the edges, lenses covered with smudges from little finger prints, but for the most part they’re clear.

I write what I write a lot of times as reminders for myself. Because a natural optimist I am not. It takes work. Because the world is full of bad things and hate and hurt. And it tears me up inside. I easily get caught up in the difficult, the cynical, the dark, and can’t find a rope to climb out of the abyss.

There are days where my personal space bubble has been burst and the pieces used as slingshots for words like mommy I need… and up!! {Paige speak for pick me up, hold my hand and do not ever put me down} and it sets me spiraling. There are moments where toxic relationships that should be kept at arm’s length come too close and easily bring me down. There are days where I cannot get out of my head. And my head is not always full of sweet moments and cuddles and baby cheeks.

But I believe that there’s a need for hurt. And a certain amount of darkness. I deeply believe in crying yourself to sleep, passing out amid sobs and mid sentence with God. I believe in waking up with puffy eyes, almost glued together by tears, and seeing the light of day. Knowing that life continues, the sun comes up every day, and with each day comes new possibilities. Without the hurt and darkness, we wouldn’t appreciate that light. I believe that there is a little thing called grace, and it is amazing and worth living for.

I was thinking of all this on a drive this morning. And then Jason Mraz’s song “I’m Yours” came on. And I couldn’t hold the tears back. He sings “and it’s our God-forsaken right to be loved…” and I melted. Looked back at my kids, bopping their head to the music, eating out of their snack bowls and holding their lovies. They are surrounded by love, and in turn give us such sweetness and love and make me gushy and want to scream at the top of my lungs how good life is.

That’s why I write. To give light to the end of trying days. To appreciate. To give back in my own little way.

But when I write only about happiness and sunshine and roses the other stuff starts building up. The voices in my head that aren’t so positive get a bandaide cover, and sometimes ooze from underneath.

So this post? This post is me giving myself permission to sometimes write about the dark stuff. To let this be a spot for everything to come out. To not tie each post up with a pretty ribbon. To just be me. This is the libra in me coming out and seeking the balance between light and dark that I so crave.

And I don’t know what prompted this. Maybe it was reading too many headlines and seeing too many pictures from Haiti. Maybe it was reading the archives of Violence Unsilenced and feeling so much. Like Fynn buries his face in his blankie when Paige cries, crying himself because of his feelings for her, I so badly want to duck under the covers and hide until all the hurt that my ears hear and my eyes see is over. But I can’t. So I write.


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23 responses to “Confessions

  1. Sigh. You just put words to exactly how I feel. I’m glad you’re giving yourself permission to write without the rose colored glasses. I hope you know that we are all there with you, in this struggle to see and celebrate the good stuff without being inauthentic about the stuff that’s really going on in the trenches.

  2. Absolutely beautiful.

    Love that song, too.


  3. I applaud you. THIS is what it means to be pure in heart, poured out before Him, even in the naked dark times when it is only His righteous that clothes.

    And I so wish sometimes that I could cry me to sleep. The tears are so healing, so unreachable. Sometimes it is the words that drip like tears from my soul, the only release for my heart-ache.

    Corinne, I so want to hang out with you…

  4. This is so beautifully written, Corrine! And I can certainly relate to every last bit of it. {especially today when naps have been sparse and the baby needs me constantly} Thank you for the reminder about what is really important {all the love} and for the reminder that it’s okay to feel the bad stuff, too!

  5. Ahhhh, yes. Crazy that we even have to give ourselves permission, isn’t it? But some of us do, and you have, and it’s a gift. I’m so glad.

    I agree about a good cry, too.

    Thank you for this.

  6. This is lovely, and I relate so much … I really do believe that, as you say, there is a place for hurt and darkness – maybe I believe that because I know they will always be a part of me and of my life, but there you go.
    I’m glad to, at least, feel there is a kindred spirit out there. Thank you for writing.

  7. Hats off Corrine! We live, breathe, and move between dark and light. So thankful you are human and not just a bunch of roses. 🙂 But rosy reminders are needed; ones we can smell along our way. So appreciative to share in your rosy moments AND the not so rose covered ones in your head. Giving yourself persmission to write with clear glasses is liberating, but even the rose is seen through them. Journeying on with you, through dark and light. Because, it’s where we all live!

    Ps. Totally relate to personal space bubble popping! “Mom!” this and “Mom!” that…tends to pop’em.

  8. Today during conversation at lunch, I actually pointed across the table and said “that glass is half empty.”

    Beautiful post…

  9. You’ve left me speechless with this post. I’ve read it, and walked away to ponder awhile, without being able to comment. I just came back to read again, and I’m still struck dumb by how raw and real and true this all is.

    “Without the hurt and darkness, we wouldn’t appreciate that light. I believe that there is a little thing called grace, and it is amazing and worth living for.” This. This brought tears to my eyes. This is what I need to remember, to hold in my heart, especially when struggling.

    I envy your ability to write about feelings other than sunshine and roses. When I’m struggling, I tend to shut down, and it’s so much healthier in the long run to have some kind of outlet.

  10. This also resonates loudly with me. I give myself permission often to cry, to scream, to be cynical… because then I appreciate the lighter days more.
    This space SHOULD be one for you to talk about everything. Happy, sad, angry, scared, worried. You will ALWAYS find ears here that hear you and can empathize or relate. It’s been the best thing in the world for me to find this place to lay it all out there.

    I love envisioning Fynn crying when Paige hurts. What a sweet, sweet boy you have there.

    And that song… Hannah and I sing that song at the top of our lungs All The Time. I love it.

  11. How much cake and how many lattes did you need to write this post? lol.
    I loved reading about why you write, and I’m really so very glad to know someone else struggles with the same things I do concerning blogging. It makes me feel not so alone because sometimes I feel like I’m crazy for putting so much thought into blogging, of all things, when there are so many other things to think about. But, you know, there’s so much truth in what you said. We each have our reasons for writing.
    I’m looking forward to reading more of what’s on your mind — not just the good and beautiful. Thank you for sharing; as always, it was a heartfelt and beautifully worded post.

  12. Very real. In every way. You are right about the dark places–we have to go there sometimes, if only to remember that there’s light not too far away.

    I am avoiding the television and the papers, because I just cannot look at those photos. It’s nearly too much to bear. I felt the same after 9/11. I spent the whole day watching CNN but then I just couldn’t take it any more.

    And I love that your child cries in empathy for his sister. He’s got a lot of heart, that boy.

  13. Greetings! I found you via High Calling Blogs.

    “There are days when I can’t get out of my head.”

    Oh my, can I ever relate to that phrase. Like you, I don’t like to write about the dark days; I’d rather write warm-fuzzies all the time. But I think it’s okay to talk about the trying times, the things that hurt or disappoint. In doing so, you may bring comfort to someone who just needed to know that somebody else feels the same way they do.

  14. Oh Corinne… You had me crying with this post. Such beautiful truth to your words. And how precious your son is.

  15. I agree with everything everyone has said– that we should remove our glasses, that this post is lovely, that it is so true– all of it. BUT, I absolutely love how happy you are with the small moments and what great perspective you have about the annoying moments. This blog perfectly captures what it’s like to take care of two small children and illustrates what it means to “not sweat the small stuff” and to “appreciate these days because kids grow up so fast.” Since I found your blog, I have been trying everyday to operationalize these truths in my own life, so thanks!

  16. So beautiful and true. A post that speaks to the heart of my daily life, and to why I blog as well. I write other things, but once published, don’t ever read them. But old posts (from blogs I’ve written at in the past), I almost need to reread every once in a while to touch back with myself, to remind myself of all the goodness I’ve received, all the love we have, etc.

    And on that note, I’m approached by a groggy, weeping little girl and I’m off to reality…

  17. This: “I believe in waking up with puffy eyes, almost glued together by tears, and seeing the light of day. Knowing that life continues, the sun comes up every day…”

    and this: “I so badly want to duck under the covers and hide until all the hurt that my ears hear and my eyes see is over. But I can’t. So I write.”

    Are where it’s at, my friend. You nailed it. Thank you. (And I’m so grateful to have your words in my life.)


  18. I couldn’t comment on this right away after I read it, because, well… if you read my blog you’ll know. Just wanted to connect with you here and say: I hear ya.

  19. beautiful.
    i’m way too tired to say more, but beautiful.

  20. Sigh.

    ME TOO.

    I so SO get this. And I love you for your honesty and your words and all of you. Just like I love life for both its beauty and grace and its darkness that contrasts the light.

    Love this.

  21. It’s a good habit, that looking back and finding themes and patterns. Much to learn from that—and it brings insight to the forward-looking, too.

  22. Pardon me, I’m blog drifting tonight. Catching up? Slowing down? I don’t know. Just drifting back and forth between all the words out there. So I’m back again.

    And all I really have to say is that life is black AND white. Good AND bad. And you have more than simple permission to write about it. You are allowed to ACCEPT it. And we are all here to listen. Listening to you listening to yourself.

    I’m yours.

  23. You said this so perfectly.

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