As I drove to church yesterday morning, I realized that this coming Thursday is Thanksgiving. I was reminded of how on Thanksgiving Day of 2010, I sat my family down and told them that I had been suicidal and self-harmed in high school.
I had told them that I wanted to tell them my testimony, since I was going on a mission trip a few months after that, I told them it was "practice". But really, it was to admit those struggles I had been through. I had hid it, so they had no idea. I knew I wanted to do it over Thanksgiving break (I was in college) and it just so happened that the one time that all of us were together, no one going here nor there, was Thanksgiving day. Kind of a bomb to drop on such a day, ha.
I remember sitting in the living room with them all. My heart was pounding. I considered backing out of my decision. But I knew I couldn't hold it in anymore. I started crying before I even said anything. I almost couldn't get the words out. But I did. They were in shock, and didn't really know what to say. Who does? They asked a few questions, that day and the weeks that followed, but overall it was acceptance. I tear up just writing this, thinking of how hard that was.
We don't really talk about it now. I don't feel the need to bring it up, and neither do they; it's something I have moved on from, that past. It still has its affects on me, but not in the way it used to. I'm glad that I told them. At first I regretted it, but that regret didn't last too long. Even though we don't talk about it, it feels like there are no barriers now, no "What if they find out" fears in the back of my mind.
This Thanksgiving will be 3 years from that day. I can't believe it's only been 3 years. It feels like so much longer. So much has changed in such a short amount of time.
I am thankful for my family.