Though I search for answers, sometimes raising my voice beyond the people who stand beside me, I don’t often give credit when credit is due. Life, after all, isn’t by chance. I just can’t believe that.

The voice I was given has it’s own purpose, it’s own reason. Even though I survived nightmarish years, it simultaneously gave me my mission.

I wanted to write: my abuse gave me a story.

I want to be help people heal and learn: my abuse gave me a platform.

I wanted to quit teaching: my writing and voice allowed me to leave my concrete classroom.

So, while it’s often times hard to admit things truly happen for a reason, especially when things are traumatic, I believe they do. That doesn’t mean I deserved the abuse I received, but it does mean I have the choice to change the course of my life afterward. And while these events don’t actually appear to be related, quite the contrary, I still believe there is one true path that hasn’t yet shown itself to me, something that will make me realize how connected everything is.

Where ever I’m headed is far bigger than where I am. And I know it. But I can’t rush the process.

Maybe the tie that binds doesn’t come. Maybe something else happens and I continue down a path without explanation. Maybe it’s time to trust this journey more than I have. Becuase, really, I still believe I’m headed where I’m supposed to go.

I had two voices speak to me in the last few days, both uprooting some heavy baggage I didn’t realize was left.

I haven’t given myself the credit I deserve for doing what I have. The silence after writing a book has been more like an aftermath for me, and less like a celebration. I have a really hard time accepting praise and seeing my own accomplishments for what they are (truly amazing). And two people in the last few days have made that very clear.

On Saturday a guy friend of mine, who I didn’t know bought The House on Sunset, grabbed me as I entered a party (dressed as a zombie) and, without noticing the makeup and fake blood on my cheek, wrapped his arms around me and said, “I read your book. I don’t know what else to say, but I wanted to do this,” and hugged me tighter. Later that night I thanked him for it. And what he said in response nearly made me sob in the middle of friends.

“Thank you for writing it. I had no idea how difficult it could be. It’s so obvious to me, now, how hard it is to leave. How intricate abuse is. And, how much you deserve the love of my best friend. And I want to share it with everyone. I’m buying a copy to leave at work. There are people there who need to read it.”

And that was the best moment I’ve had since releasing the book. It was bigger than a party and, maybe, bigger than the gift on another friend (a framed ‘congrats’ image for my loved ones to write on). For a man to stand there and say that it changed his perception in that way. It was life altering.

Then, this morning, just as I opened this page to begin writing my weekly post, another friend called me from Montana.

“You need to savor the work you’ve done, my friend. Most people would kill to write a book in their lifetime. Whatever reason you feel it’s not good enough, think about them and cut yourself some slack.”

Again, it was everything I needed.

The truth is, I’ve often felt pulled higher and higher, but I never give myself room to breathe. Even here, where I used to come and dump my frustration, I’ve only used it as an opportunity to show you how happy I am. How whole I feel.

And while it’s not meant to be disingenuous, I think I have been.

The truth? My goal this week is to celebrate my own successes. To bask in the glory of sharing my past with eyes willing to read through it. The hours of work and avoiding re-traumatizing myself. They’ve been overlooked by “what’s next,” and I need to chill.

So my friends reminded me of that just as domestic violence awareness month ended, and I’m taking November to truly embrace all of the great things I’m doing for the cause.

Join me here once a week as I talk about my life, my healing and journey. Because, quite honestly, it’s time to return to my roots. Now, rather than continuing to tell myself it’s going to happen, only to turn around and wait for a new announcement.

I’m back. And I’m ready to share my life with you again.