Once upon a time (Take 2)

I think I found the starting block. The one where I need to start being kind to myself so I could get good at it, go into the doing-it-subconsciously-mode so I can get down to concentrating on other people and not myself.

Funny enough (or not surprising at all?) it's connected with the scrapbooking thing. My heartfelt thanks to all of you who commented on that post of mine. Most of the things you said I knew already, but I wanted to throw myself a small pity party about not ever getting the chance to scrap pages of my baby (not to mention the plural!). Now that THAT's out of the way, let's get to the rest of it.

My photo box (freshly organized thanks to various visits to my local scrapbooking shop - just pretend you didn't see that if you're reading this Mr. Bank Manager!) Going through the various categories during the past week or so, I kept avoiding my own baby pictures for some insane very obvious reasons. My sister Wilma came around for coffee the other day, and since we're partners in crime with this latest hobby, she enquired about all the pages I scrapped the past week since I've been on holiday.

When I uhmed and ah'ed she said nothing, just had that look on her face that said: "Tell me about what's bothering you really." And so I did. Ms. Crybaby came out instantly. (Maybe if I stopped drinking so much water - do you think that would help keep the tears at bay?) The words and excuses didn't make much sense at first, but she let me cry and babble for a few minutes.

What she said then made so much sense, why I didn't think of it first is a mystery. She said: " Sis, no matter what happened in your past, you have a story to tell. What's more important is not that you won't be telling it to your children, but it's important that you TELL your story. It's yours. Just tell it."

So that's what I did. I picked one of my baby pictures and scrapped it. It was a bit small for a 12 x 12 page, so I went for the 8 x 8 size. Here is the result:


For a bigger image, click *here*. I struggled a bit with the correct lighting - but you get the idea. The journaling is as follows: "Krulletjies, Kuiltjies & Kleintyd se Kiekies." So why did I write it in Afrikaans when I knew most of you wouldn't understand at all? Because all the k's are part of a letter play on my name. Translated it means: "Krulletjies (curls), Kuiltjies (dimples) & Kleintyd (childhood times) se Kiekies (photos)."

Yes it was therapeutic, and yes I cried a few times. The important part is that I started. I'm not skipping over my own pictures anymore. Looking at them is still painful, but by looking at who I was, how I changed from a little baby into who I am today, makes me realize I'm someone special. And the world didn't fall in on my head just because I actually typed it.

The lesson I learned this week, thanks to Wilma's advice, is that I need to tell my story even though some of the chapters I wanted to have in my book won't be there. It will make it different, and it will be beautiful, because it is MINE.

Once upon a time there was a little girl who had no idea whatsoever about all the real life monsters out there. She also had no idea how beautiful life could be, but she was about to find out exactly how absolutely breathtaking it is!