February 5, 1968
She couldn’t bear the weight of the world.
She couldn’t take care of me the way she wanted or needed to.
She ended her life.
So began a defining moment of mine.
I was 19 months old.
My mind doesn’t hold the memories, but my body remembers everything.
It was during this traumatic, confusing and tender season when my representative was born. (something I’d not been able to articulate until I read Glennon Doyle Melton’s memoir, Love Warrior.)
She would protect me.
She would examine the motives of all those who would interact with me and report back if it was safe to come out or if I needed to stay hidden.
She would determine how and when I should show up, be seen, be heard based on her experiences of the world, of others.
She would go on to dictate the majority of decisions in my life.
She would go on to guide the majority of the interactions and relationships in my life.
I am 50 years old.
Decades of therapy, body work, energy work and personal development have brought me to this defining moment in my life.
My representative has concerns.
She would hardly approve of the level of vulnerability and exposure, of risk that writing my truth invites.
She would caution me that it’s not safe to be me.
She tells me that she’s the only one who can run “this place” the right way.
I’ve presented my representative with an early retirement package.
She’s reluctantly accepted. She’s exploring her options.
The Birth of a Blog
To the women who have been brave and bold enough to tell their stories, I give thanks. Elizabeth Gilbert, Cheryl Strayed, Brene Brown, Ann Patchett, Glennon Doyle Melton, Ann Lemott.
To the mentors, guides, healers and therapists who have encouraged me and seen the real me, thank you.
To the friends and family who have been patiently waiting for me to step into my truth, to the truth and beauty of who I am and who I can be – things are about to get really interesting. 😉
To the friends and family who aren’t interested in my truth, I say, I get it. Carry on. I release any need to convince, convert or otherwise ask for your interest or blessing. Spoiler alert. Should you choose to read and follow, things are about to get a little uncomfortable.
This is my truth.
Not what I think I should or shouldn’t write.
Not what I think I should or shouldn’t share.
Not what I think you want to read or what you want me to share.
Not what I think you can handle.
This is my expression of freedom.
This is my expression of truth.
This is my expression of self.
This is my work.
My name is Whitney Bishop.
This is my experience.