The Growing Season

It’s a strange feeling, growing up.

Or maybe “growing up” isn’t even the right term. I don’t feel older, I don’t feel grown, I’m still as down as I used to be. Maybe the right term is “moving on.” Or “moving forward.” Or even just “growing past.”

Better yet, “Growing Despite.”

There are things that have happened in the past that have shaped who I am at this very moment. Things I thought I’d never get over. Thinks I didn’t WANT to get over. Things I should have gotten over sooner. But somehow it always seemed easier to hold onto the pain, and grip tightly to the guilt. Yes, it hurt. It hurt then, it hurt later… I was sure it would hurt forever. There have been lots of these moments in my life. I hate to admit it, but I’m a dweller. I hold on to things far beyond the length of time that is healthy. I don’t hold grudges, but I also don’t forget. I don’t like that I do that. I don’t agree with it.

But I just can’t help it. Just like I can’t help the fact that I’m a sucker for punishment, and seem to get some sick pleasure out of banging my head against brick walls. (Which, according to Jackie, will dent my head and make me less than perfect, which would mean that she couldn’t be my friend anymore… So obviously, something I need to avoid.)

What I HAVE noticed, though, is that even when I think these hangover feelings will surely last until the day I kick the bucket, there comes a day when I just don’t feel them anymore. This day seems to sneak up on me. The feelings abate gradually, a little more each day, until one day I realize that the old hurts just don’t hurt anymore. And haven’t for awhile. This day is always a great one for me, because I know that I’m finally moving on. And growing.

Growing, despite the hurts and the trials. Not getting bigger, not getting older, not maturing…

Just Growing. Despite.