I’ve always read the worst thing a blogger can do is open up with an apology for not writing. But, what if you had a wonderful explanation?

 

One of my kids’ favorite pastimes consists of dreaming up situations I may be in when I am out of work. I usually try to send a blanket message when I’m out, but if I don’t, I can expect a whiteboard full of fabrications in my whereabouts.

 

I wish I could explain in full detail what happened to me this year (last school year), but I think it’s probably best that I give the Cliff Notes: I said something, via text, that was taken out of context. My heart was in the right place- my heart is always in the right place. But I landed myself in a compromising position, tarnished my reputation, and spent two weeks wondering if I ruined my own life. I have never questioned myself as I did in those two agonizing weeks.

 

This is a writer’s worst nightmare.

 

As a writer, I want to be able to tell my stories freely. I cherish my freedom and careful selection of words. As an introvert, I am always grateful for a platform to tell the story of my life. As one who gives myself and others a lot of grace, I hope to share with the world that we are all mostly good. As a person of faith, I want to inspire people to have hope. That’s what I want now.

 

But, if I’m being honest, I am scarred from this experience. I constantly wonder if I’ve said something I shouldn’t have. I am terrified to talk to friends via text. Forget thinking about my memoir. Definitely haven’t wanted to reach anyone through essays. I know it seems simple, but I learned the hard way: my words impact others.

 

It’s tough to find the balance between raw honesty and social norms, so there’s that. I guess more than anything, I must acknowledge: I didn’t make everyone happy, but everyone lived.

 

And so, now, I am giving myself permission to hit “publish” again.

 

When I started this blog, I chose the name “C is for Curveball” because life has thrown our little family a lot of curveballs. There are so many circumstances that transpire to which most of my friends now respond with: “Only Amelia.” And it’s painful and hilarious all at once. I don’t always love that this is who God made me to be. But when I ask Him, “Why?” He always comes right back to me, and says, “Because you have a story to tell.”

 

So, let’s get back to it.

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