My aunt asked me the other day what stigma I am trying to break.
I paused for a second.
I wasn’t sure.
I feel like there are a million stigmas that I am constantly trying to break.
Whether it’s being a widow (which you all know I am).
Or being an ex herion addict.
Losing a husband to an overdose.
Being a single mom of two small kids.
People tend to assume that IF it is the same father to both than he MUST be a dead beat.
Little do they know he is just dead.
I don’t understand how the world can deal out such anger and hatred.
Why can’t people understand that there is so much hurt in the world and adding in pain we bring upon ourselves, this cruel judgement is unnecessary.
Why can’t we show compassion?
I’m not saying that I don’t judge.
But I pray and try to replace any judgements with compassion, love, and understanding.
I wish humans could put themselves aside and stop.
Saying “I have never experenced that. It must be so much.”
Because at the end of the day it is so fucking much.
To be a single mom.
The sole bacon bringer.
The one who kisses all the boo boos.
The one teaching them how to speak, interact, think, exist.
With help from family here and there but even then I am a burden.
I want to break that stigma as well.
I don’t want to be a burden on my family.
How long can I be a burden to others?
Much less my self.
Stigma is a horrible thing.
Love is love.
Pain is pain.
Compassion and understanding is necessary.
We all grow at the rate of pain.
We all have our own grab bag of shit.
Sometimes my pain or your pain can seem like more to someone but mine is NOT heavier than yours.
Pain is all relative.
They say that God gives you only what you can handle and for a long time I hated that.
I said “Oh REALLY! Only. Only what I can handle? How much more can I fucking take?”
The truth is within the dark we search for light.
How can you know what your soul truly needs if you aren’t desperately reaching to find your light?
How can those who claim to love us not support our journey?
This Mt. Everest is not for the weak of heart.
It is not for you to interject and tell me all that I am doing wrong.
How I have fallen short.
Who are you?
How do you know?
How can I respect anything you say?
But if you meet me with love and simply say
“I am worried your shoes are not strong enough for the rocks ahead.”
“I am concerned you didn’t pack an ample supply of food for your journey ahead.”
I didn’t know what my path was.
I was thrust into it within a second; a momentary decision that changed everything.
How are you immune to that?
None of us are.
So please before you pass judgment, pause.
Rethink your wording.
The way that your words could harm an already battered individual.
Consider your shoes.
Extend your hand.
Don’t shame me with it.