Weaving together the strands of my life back together; what an accurate description for why I write.
I lean into the fears born of ambiguous loss to grasp the dangling threads of disenfranchised adoption grief. I then try to hold those threads made of stinging nettle with compassion – compassion for myself, for my lost daughter, and all the others players in our story. This compassion is what allows me to hold those strands without dropping them again, to incorporate them into the warp and weft of my life. As I do this, I discover the truth of St. Cloud’s words: It is the very act of weaving my story that makes me stronger, not my endurance of the stinging threads.
(Please visit Bone Sigh Arts: Honor Yourself to purchase this lovely print of Terri St. Cloud’s work. I do not know Terri St. Cloud nor am I in any way affiliated with Bone Sigh Arts. If you ask them, they won’t know me from Adam. I just love their stuff and think everyone should own at least one of their gorgeous products, preferably more.)