the twenties

Yes, I know.

On Friday, I promised something that I have not yet delivered. I said that I would post 10 memories from my first decade of life, 10 from the second, and 10 from the third. And what do you see below you? Just 20 memories. And then they stop.

Does that mean that I can't remember much between the ages of 20 and 30? Of course not--those memories should be even more salient to me than the earlier ones (and even though I discovered alcohol in college, I didn't drink THAT much).

It's just that, when I approach the decade of my twenties, there's this period of time that sticks out like a sore thumb. I thought about glossing over it and just picking memories from the early and late twenties, but that 2-3 year stretch in the middle just stares at me like, "uh-uh...no way you can deal with this decade and avoid me." So I continued to sit on those memories from my teens, staring out into my past future, paralyzed.

There were a lot of amazing times in my twenties: the last couple of years at Vandy, a summer of living and working in New York, a backpacking trip through France and Italy, my first job, serving as a volunteer youth leader, working at camps, buying my first home, girls' weekends in Colorado, etc. It would be easy to focus solely on those experiences.

But it also wouldn't seem fair. I could pretend that there were no skeletons in my closet, no demons in my past...but it wouldn't make them go away.

In my twenties, I got married. Perhaps it happened a little too quickly, but I can't use that as an excuse, because I knew full well what marriage meant and what I was committing myself to. But not long after I said I do, I decided in my selfishness that I really didn't. So I checked out. And I treated my husband horribly in the hopes that he would just agree to divorce me.

Remember when I said that divorce isn't ever pretty? Well, it wasn't. And during that period of time, I discovered the absolute ugliest side of me--a side that I never knew existed--a side that I wished couldn't belong to me. When I look back, I think, "Was that really me? That couldn't have been me. That is so not me." And yet it was. I morphed into someone who had absolutely no concern for anyone else's feelings but my own. I lied to everyone, including myself. And I hurt a lot of people. A lot of people who loved me. And a lot of people that I loved.

And now, years later, I recognize that it is past and I can't do anything to change it. I know that God and friends and family have all forgiven me, and I continue to work on forgiving myself. And I know that there will probably be a few people who read this and think, "Good lord, let it GO already. Sheesh." I know. And I try. But at the same time, I think there is an element of that experience that I will carry around with me for the rest of my life. And maybe I should. Maybe those memories should haunt me, so that I remember how far I can fall, and keep me vigil so that I never become that person again.

So there you go. Who knew you were going to get such a raw journal entry for the third installment of my series? I certainly didn't when I started this thing. I promise to keep the next post a little lighter (and not as excruciatingly long as the past few have been).