Sloughing

I don't know you. You are probably a father, maybe a grandfather. You probably have favorite TV shows and enjoy playing catch with your kids. You probably love to laugh and go home each night to a spouse who greets you with a kiss. You're probably a good person.

But you facilitated one of the most painful and traumatic moments in life.

You don't know me. You probably saw yet another bitchy ex-wife who was trying to use the kids as a pawn to torture her weak-minded ex-husband. You may have seen my tears as weakness, or a tool to manipulate. You wouldn't know they were an expression of deep-seated anger and overwhelming helplessness at being silenced once again and not allowed to even try and protect myself and my children.

You wouldn't know this because you did not let me speak.

That was wrong. That was so, so wrong in every single way. Even if the orders were "only temporary." Even if you "didn't want to wait" to at least partly resolve the issue, you were so wrong to not let my daughter and myself speak in our own defense of his delusions and lies. You were wrong to make the hour hand on a clock more important than the well-being of children.

But your refusal to hear me facilitated a massive transformation for me. I do not thank you for it, for it was wrong and you should not have done it. I do, however, forgive you, because I chose to make it into something bright and beautiful and powerful beyond any gavel or black robe or line in a law book.

As always, I chose to rise. Because of what you did, something woke up inside of me. Something grew and raised its formidable head and roared. I had been finding my voice, I had been learning to speak. But because of what you did my transformation was accelerated, and I now have a power behind that voice that will never be silenced again. No man or woman in a black robe or any other garb will ever prevent me from protecting my children and myself. No being on this planet will ever force my head to bow or push me to the side. No one, and no thing will ever be strong enough to suffocate the sound of my indignation or laughter or song or scream. Whatever tone my voice takes, however I choose to use it, I will not be silenced again.

That is who I am, now.

Nice to meet you.