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A Woman's Journal


Sticks and Stones

By Maggie Turner

January 16, 2000

Sticks and Stones

Today I am walking through a grey fog. The sky was blue all day. The clouds were big and fluffy white floating in the sky. It was windy and the landscape danced. However, my world has been grey. Some days are like this.

It always amazes me how a few angry words can wound another human being. These can be surface wounds; they can be deep wounds. They can take a few minutes to heal, a few hours, a few days, or a lifetime. We share our experience dealing with such wounds.

As I grow older, I become less resilient in my dealings with words that wound. Luckily, I have also learned indifference towards much that at one time I found painful. There is however an indifference I have not cultivated, an indifference to my children. When my children lash out in anger, say things they do not mean; I am wounded. The teenage years are very difficult for the teenager. I, the parent, am finding them a trial by fire.

There have been many words of late, many angry, hurtful words. These words are directed at me, they are difficult to hear. The confusion of perception that plagues the teenage years is difficult to witness. In spite of my resolve to remain untouched by thoughtless, confused and angry words - I am wounded. I do not heal as quickly as I once did. I walk in a grey fog, feelings wrapped in gauze.

"The Teenager" will appear cheerfully in the kitchen, all thoughts of recent conflict completely forgotten. She will laugh. I can see her through the fog; she does not see me. That will come, she will see me ­ years from now. This year, this week, today, I am invisible walking through a grey fog.


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