Thanksgiving Ghosts

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I believe in ghosts. They walk among us. These shadowed specters who follow us through life haunt our present and threaten our peace of mind. Everyone has them. Some are more easily banished while others linger, their presence a stubborn stain on the fabric of our lives.

Mine has dogged my steps for  fourteen years, and every year, this particular ghost gains possession of my mind and pulls me into the past, making me see and relive the horrors that occurred all those years ago.

I have hated Thanksgiving for almost a decade and a half. 

Anxiety and depression descend a week or so preceding tomorrow’s holiday. I am usually miserable and strive to work myself to near exhaustion to numb myself to this day. By all accounts, this year would be no different. I was crabby and on edge all day. Anger and fear are powerful catalysts fueling anxiety ridden anticipation, and they have fed off of my mood all day. 

Yet, something did change this year. My husband and I went to Thanksgiving Eve services, something we never do. The service allowed me time to  slow down and reflect on my inner turmoil. I meditated and allowed myself to recognize what was happening. Then something amazing happened. As I visualized the event that has kept my locked in the past, I acknowledged my anger and my fear. I told myself it was okay to have those feelings, but that it was time to take control.

I refused to let it take over.

I pushed it back into the shadows.

I stopped my ghost.

It’s still there. I can feel it lurking at the edges, but the bitter edge of  anger and fear has ebbed. The sting is not as painful as it usually is. Am I brimming with eager anticipation for tomorrow? No, but I’m also not walking in shadows, either. Baby steps, but all headed in the right direction–away from darkness toward the light.

And where there is light, there is hope.

May your Thanksgiving, and everyday, be hopeful. Peace be with you.


Nano Woes

I woke up early to write for NaNoWriMo and decided a hot cup of tea was in order. I put my mug in the microwave and when done, reached for it with my right hand and burned my fingers. My left hand came to the rescue. Ever the copycat, it reached in and grabbed the scalding mug because, you know, the left hand is heat resistant. (Face palm). I’ve been nursing two burned fingers today, but I did get 500 words this morning. Only 45,000 more to go!