Owning My Roots & Growing My Wings
“There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children. One of these is roots…the other, wings.” — Henry Ward Beecher
I am rooted in a love of learning, art, music, science, curiosity, friendliness, justice, compassion, and open-mindedness. But, I am just as rooted in pain, betrayal, abuse, lies, manipulation, chaos, fear, guilt, apathy, and denial.
I grew wings through sheer force, though time and time again, I was tied down, feathers plucked. But, my wings remained, scarred, but strong. My wings‘ purpose was to fly me from my roots, for how does one grow to their full potential while struggling to survive in a tangled web of rot?
I denied my malicious roots for so long that when I started to pull them up and see them in the light of day, they tainted even the best of childhood memories and left me with only despair. Now I strive for balance by remembering that I was created out of both love and pain.
But, I desperately miss the denial at times. It was a safe place that only I knew. A little clubhouse that only I could enter. Now I’m opening the creaky door, taking down the Keep Out sign, and letting people in, always worried that when they see inside the dark places, they will know that I’m not worth it, that I’m not easy to love.
Can I undo the damage now that I can see it, or am I beyond repair? Can I lessen my immense grief? Grief from losing a family I thought loved me and from realizing how much of me has been lost for so long? Can I feel worthy of the love that so many have shown me?
I can. I am. With every thought I scribble and every memory I sketch, I feel my wings healing — stretching and pushing to fly (whether I want to or not). And the foul roots, though they will never die, shrink and fade, letting the light shine in to reveal those that are tender, funny, warm, and uplifting.
