All My Life Be A Bowl Full Of Cherries

After three years of writing my inner thoughts for you on Facebook, baring my soul for all my friends and family to witness, unstringing and unraveling my mind in front of you, I’ve decided to do something more. I’m beginning the process of publishing my writings, eventually turning my grief-stricken thoughts into a book.

Something someone can hold close to their chest and hopefully whisper thank you to the pages that resonate with them. Something that makes them feel less alone.

Over the last three years, I have received hundreds of messages from women and men discreetly thanking me for my transparency. I’ve read messages from people who found pieces of themselves in my words, who reached out asking for advice or simply to say me too.

I am no expert on divorce, grief, trauma, surviving abuse, or motherhood in the midst of all of it. But I have processed it all in a way that has helped me survive what has often felt like a fated situation. I am still here, through this identity-changing crisis, through watching my children suffer at the will of their own father.

I have essentially looked at the molecules of my own DNA and seen an everlasting change in their coding, altered by the severity of abuse and trauma inflicted by a man I once swore a solemn oath to love and respect until the day I die.

I watched as my family by marriage stood silent. I saw the thousands upon thousands of dollars they gave him to support the destruction of our family. I stood in the midst of a storm raging around me and my children. While he has continued to use me as a wife, mother, nanny, and scapegoat for his anger, I have learned to adapt and survive it.

The process and the how matter.

I was told by many people, including the ex, “Stop posting on Facebook. Stop being so open about your sorrow. Keep some things private.”

When I say you have no idea how little I share, I mean that. I still, to this day, protect the inexcusable for one reason only: for their redemption’s sake.

There are times I type it all out. I feel God’s hand cover mine and whisper, No. Not that. Not yet. Not now.

And then there are the dos: Yes, this. That’s right. Maybe a bit too much sass, but go ahead.

I’m going to leave you all a trail from the beginning of this journey to now, of my broken, lamenting, grieving, motherly, scorned, bitter, and healing body, mind, and soul.

I want you to see what it’s like for a human being to survive something so incredibly egregious, not only the past but the future as well.

If this becomes a blueprint for someone else’s journey, then my pain has not been for nothing. If this can be a map leading someone toward their next good day, I can find purpose in this tragedy that’s unfolded in my own life. And if I can point anyone toward the One who is truly responsible for my rebirth through it all, I will.

I have a lot to say. My mouth never seems to work when I need it to, though. So today begins my journey into something I’ve been putting off for far too long.

May God have mercy on the ones who have hurt my children. I’ve come with receipts, not for revenge but for justice. I chose the name Meek and Wild for a reason. Meekness is beautiful and something I strive for every day. And the Lord also knew what he was doing when he made my wild heart. Together I will live in and with this duality. Balancing it for you.

Sincerely,

Trina Meek