One of the first things a survivor of abuse learns is you don't feel what you feel. You don't know what you know. If I never felt low lows, I also never knew high highs either. My emotions swung through a limited range, hovering around a mild depression. The paucity of emotional connection brought my chosen career in music to an abrupt halt.
Since I have addressed most of the issues surrounding my childhood, once again I can feel enormous elation. The sale of my first book! The birth of a grandchild! The successful performance of a Christmas program!
I also feel deep grief. When the news announced that Liz Taylor died at age 79, I googled her birthdate: February 27, 1932. She was 15 days younger than my mother. I had never thought of Liz and Mom as contemporaries, but they were. And somehow the icon Taylor's death brought up grief for Mom all over again.
How about fear and confusion? I felt those in abundance, when my editor raised unexpected questions about the manuscript for Lone Star Trail.
Add physical trauma to the emotional roller coaster of the week, and I could say it's been. . .interesting. I fell down head to toe last Sunday. No broken bones but a hipful of bruised ligaments left me in pain, nearly immobile, and easily tired.
The beauty for me as a Christian is that in pain or at ease, whether in the deepest depths or dwelling on high, God is faithful. He walks with me through everything, and His grace sustains me.
Praise the Lord.
By the way. . .in spite of the changes my editor requested, she also said, "The department head is very excited about it. Historical romance is a departure for Moody and I feel that we have the best possible writing for our foray into the genre." In fact, she says they are all "abuzz" about it. Their excitement tells me all is well.