Maybe I am Brave

I wrote a post and deleted it.

I thought that I was exposing myself too much. I felt vulnerable. I tend to wear my heart on my sleeve and sometimes I see that as a weakness because people have a tendency to destroy me.

I asked: “Is it brave or stupid to bring another human into this horrible world?”

I think the attacks on Paris affected me more than I realized. I’ve been there. Paris has nested in my heart.

I remember what I was doing September 11th. I was in high school.

I am geologically far away from these events but it hurts. And because I was having a bad day, I let depression seep into the front of my cerebellum and I began to recount all of the horrid things that had happened to me, personally.

It’s not just been strangers. It’s been friends, best friends, lovers, family. Betrayed and abused. So what gives me any right to bring my daughter into a world where nightmares happen while you wake?

I think maybe that I am brave.

I survived. I did more than survive, I came out stronger. In the face of everything evil in this world, I still strive to be light, to be love. If I give my daughter my tools, she too will survive and maybe more. Maybe her light will shine too brightly to let anyone destroy her. Even in the smallest way.

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