Thanks Abe, for the hop through time. It’s sort of strange that you have access to all the moments of my life I chose to share with the world over the last 7 years, but it’s pretty cool too.

 

I like memory lane.

The ability to see what was happening on this day many years ago is really a unique thing you’ve offered the world, and an added benefit of technological living. It’s hard to scroll through the literal thousands upon thousands of pictures I have posted on Facebook over the years, so it’s nice to know that if I just wait, you’ll present them to me in a sweet little daily package of memories each morning.

I really am enjoying it.

Being able to see pictures of my boys over the last 3 years has been amazing. You don’t realize how much people grow and change until you get to scroll through an app on your phone and see it all happening in a daily slide show. Truly, thank you for that!

As much as I’m enjoying reliving the good times with you, occasionally this stroll through memories gone by is painful.

As the years tick by and I go from the photos of last year to the photos of 2 and 3 years ago, and beyond, the twinge of heartache comes sometimes.

It’s been strange to watch my life unfold on Facebook. But while it’s sometimes painful to see, and many people may think I share too much anyway, this time hop has really been more than an app. It’s been a gift. A chance to see myself through the eyes of others.

When the memories of 5 or 6 years ago pop up, it’s honestly quite hard to stomach.

The smitten statuses of how in love I was and the constant longing to be with my then long distance boyfriend as I completed Graduate School and he lived the same life he’s living now. That’s been hard.

I posted things like, “Everything is so much better when you’re with the one you love. Missin’ my love nugget tonight and so ready to be in Georgia.”

Things like that are like a gut punch. Not so much because that love has been lost now 5 years later, but because it reflects how sick and delusional I was. Hindsight is 20/20, and Abe, you have given me 20/20 vision.

I was a damn mess. A codependent, sick, lost little mess. And I was being taken for a ride I didn’t realize I’d jumped on. While I was posting longing statuses of being with “my love,” he was drinking himself into oblivion, lying to me constantly, and feeling like a boss for having hooked such a pathetically committed little girl.

I can see so clearly now the parallel lives we lived back then. It’s the same parallel life we live today. The tension between how it was and how I wanted it, how it is and how it should be. That space between where I fell through the middle years ago. It’s hard to look at.

The memories of 3 years ago, celebrating the birth of my baby boys. What a treasured time in my life. But though I saw it then and though I felt it all, being able to see through my eyes today of what was really happening 3 years ago is painful.

My life going one direction and his stagnating behind. The glow in my eyes at the miracle we’d created and the dull, glazed over look in his as he slowly sunk to the bottom. The recognition of truth inside his soul that this really wasn’t at all what he wanted. And me, desperately trying to make our parallel lives somehow collide.

Two years ago, the memories started to look a bit more like what I imagined. He was sober. We had our babies. Things were moving in the right direction. We looked like a happy family on the outside. But there were struggles. A lot of struggles.

I can see them in the quotes I posted every now and then. In the bible verses I shared that carried me through that day.

I can see that although what I posted on Facebook didn’t always reflect the full truth of what was happening behind the scenes, I shared the good times because they were what I lived for. I wanted people to see the good I saw. I wanted to show that change is possible and that even when it doesn’t look like it’s going to work out, it does and God changes people and life can be good.

It wasn’t a lie. All of that is true and it still stands today. But it wasn’t the whole truth. I didn’t show everyone my pain back then, but I can see it clearly now.

I can see it in the pictures of us bringing our babies home from the hospital for the first time. I can see it in the thousands of pictures that he isn’t in. I can see it in what wasn’t shared each day.

One year ago things shifted bigger than they’d ever shifted. I finally mustered enough strength to listen to what the spirit lead me to do, and I finally unclenched my grasp on the life I’d tried so hard to create. On the image of what I shared on Facebook hoping that someday, those good times would out weigh the bad ones and it wouldn’t feel like such a rouse.

I see the memories from last year and I see strength. I see a woman, where years before, the memories reflected a girl. I thought I was strong then. I thought I was wise and insightful. But I knew nothing. What I see now, is a real woman.

Days go by now where I struggle to see myself. I fail to appreciate the progress I’ve really made over the years, and I doubt myself.

But then you show up Abe, with your commemoration of my old life, and you remind me who I am.

You help me see myself through a fresh pair of eyes. You shed light on the truth, both of my sadness and pain, and my strength and bravery.

My heart hurts sometimes as I remember what was happening each year and as I continue to let go of the dream of where I hoped we’d be today. But what I see is that I’m so much better than I ever was.

I see the woman I hoped I’d become. I see the mother I knew I’d be. And I see the me that I’m supposed to be. I still have a long way to go, but I appreciate being able to retrospectively see the journey unfold.

You’ve given me a gift.

Not every memory is pleasant. Not every hop through time is enjoyable. But what an offering to be able to see them all as I am today.

So thank you, Abe. Thank you for holding the days of my life in one place and allowing me to see them all from the perspective of now. We are in a good place, even though it’s still hard and it still hurts sometimes.

We are better today than we were when we started, and I’m looking forward to the memories you show me in the next few years. Hop on Abe!