Out of the closet...

She is clothed with strength and dignity; She laughs at the days to come." -Proverbs 31:25

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There was a lot of arguing at home when I was little. I wasn't part of it because I chose not to be and removed myself physically from the scene. Usually it involved my brother who lost something, broke something, forgot something, smoked something, flushed something, drove into something, stubbed something, ripped something, ignored something, or blew something up. My brother was a curious, intelligent sort. I was a simpler-minded species and yearned for peace at all cost even if I had to hide inside my closet. I didn't need an ipod back then to be able to tune out the chaos, but paid dearly with the amount of time spent alone in my room.

People wonder why I talk so much. When you spend your childhood talking to yourself, the desire for human communication becomes like crystal. Nevertheless, isolation builds certain life skills to combat chronic loneliness. I found humor in all things, which gets me through awful situations to this day. If I can't control a scenario I decorate it, ice it, laugh at it or remove myself mentally from the scene of the crime. This has helped me to cope with the most terrible, scary things in my life. Little Sally just goes to her room, rearranges her closet, moves all of the pictures on her wall, tries on clothes making herself into a pirate wench, dresses up like a character from Little Women, builds elaborate forts with bed clothes, or immerses herself in a song, a painting or a book. I was notorious for moving my furniture around and am not sure to this day whether it was out of creativity or boredom. I baked. I whipped up meringues, coffee cakes, gingerbread houses, brownies and sugar cookies. I was allowed to bake sweets, but not allowed to eat sweets. Little did my mother know that I baked the goodies in order to lick the damn bowl, and to this day would rather eat the dough than an actual cookie. This is not about the sugar or about the cookie dough, but is about the control.

That kind of control with food became crazier as time progressed with hiding food, throwing up food, bouts of anorexia, and later... marrying the biggest foodie on the face of the Earth.

There is strength and dignity in knowing who you are, admitting who you are and why you behaved the way you did. You can look back and cry at it or reflect on it and laugh, move forward, and understand that in the face of an abusive and dangerous childhood that you survived. I did one helluva job moving forward and not repeating the same scenario for my own children. They may never understand why I am so silly, why I become obsessed with a new project, or can spend hour after hour on a computer writing a book or crafting a story, but I have skills to reinvent myself monthly, which has its perks. Also, my children know that I never gave up on them once or gave them what was given to me.

Rearranging my closet hasn't been easy, but I did it.