I am from......

I am from old 78's stored in the wardrobe in my parent's bedroom.

I am from watching their hands holding in the gap between the beds, my tiny body snuggled close.

I am from The Beatles singing "She loves you yeah yeah yeah!"; from tea-on-the-table, sixties working class Britain; from a coal fire and Christmas stockings with toes stuffed full of Oranges.

I am from the council house on the street named after a cheese, where spiders filled the monster Hydrangea bush that grew in the middle of the concrete front garden.  I am from children playing knock-a-door-run til it went dark, and from the fearsome Alsatian dog from next door  that once escaped to steal a huge piece of meat from the butchers down the road. I thought he would soon eat me too.

I am from the young lovers who grew up too soon, from the fantasy of a Mother who played the piano, and my Father, the artist and thinker, who never blossomed. I am from that girl from the market garden on The Moss, whose family still attend the same church, and I am from the beaten little boy who never knew his father.

I am from Lillian and Betsy, from Blanche and Elizabeth - from a family tree full of station masters, Westmoreland boxing, innkeepers; and stories of shipwrecks and strong women. I am from Grandma and from Grandad  who was a prisoner of war in Japan; and thirty years later, grew rhubarb in his long, sunny back garden. I am from brown bread and butter eaten with tinned fruit after tea, and the clock that chimed out loudly in their still sitting room. I am from Elsie, Alice and Annie. I am from stories and photographs of wild Jean and mysterious Eva.

I am from books and imagination, that took my sisters and I far away in our covered waggon of a bed. I am from hearing sleigh bells outside the window on Christmas Eve. I am from squeals of delight and fear, as my father chased a mouse around the bedroom, red-faced and cursing. 

I am from watching the moon landings on our small black and white television. I am from standing in front of the clock on the mantelpiece until I learned to tell the time, the night  my Dad had been in to talk to the teachers at school.

I am from domestic violence, banging on the ceiling and angry words. I am from sisters who told me they ran away but were always returned home again. I am from the tiny girl who did not understand that she was being abused one afternoon in a neighbour's house, but who still remembers.

I am from black and white photos of a forty year old lady, with curly black hair and glasses, stolen from my Nana's album. I am from seeing my Mother in the street after she died and thinking she was coming home. I am from a family in grief and missing each other. I am from a home suddenly gone.

I am from Ralf McTell's Streets Of London, news reports of IRA bombs and missing persons. 

I am from Martin Luther King, Mother Theresa, Gladys Aylward, Ghandi and Nelson Mandela. I am from school, books and writing, drawing and learning. I am from bullies forcing grass in my mouth, from getting to know a new family, from wet beds, and late for school. I am from wanting my Father to come back.

I am from "I want doesn't get",  from re-learning to hold my knife and fork correctly,  from hand me downs and sharp words and "Please may I? not can I?" "Please may I leave the table? Not please can I get down?"

I am from contrasts, working class and middle class, good and bad, right and wrong. I am from "You are ungrateful. Selfish. Deceitful." I am from never quite good enough.

I am from family breakdown, rows, alcoholism and guilt. I am from working women and unemployed men. I am from my new sister hiding under her bed with her hands over her ears. I am from her parent's divorce. I am from visits to my "real" family four days a week for tea and at Christmas. Two families. Two ways of being. I am from trying to please.

I am from head in a book, "What's that you said?" "Are you talking to me?" I am from shopping lists and talking to myself. I am from drawing. I am from writing stories. I am from dreams of changing the world. I am from helping my Nana to wash herself, and from pushing her wheelchair out into the sunshine. I am from "the good girl" - "the quiet girl."

I am from 70's Britain, Top of the Pops and Radio Times. I am from Roots, The Waltons and Little House. I am from Katy, Heidi and Jo Marsh. I am from my new sister telling me "If I can't be an animal I'm not playing." I am from strikes and power cuts.I am from laughter and friendship, fashion, music and first loves.

I am from travel, from learning, from striving. I am from old friendships built on shared values and beliefs. I am from love and courage and family. I am from sacrifice and pain. I am from sadness and I'm sorry. I am from forgiveness, forgiveness, forgiveness.

I am from always moving forward and working with hope.

This idea is based on a poem by George Ella Lyon. I have had it mentioned to me twice in one week, here and also in the 100 days group . So I wrote a rough version in my journal. This is still very rough and has far too much personal information that makes me feel vulnerable, but I decided to post it anyway. 100 days is all about taking small steps outside your comfort zone every day for a period of 100 days.

I am also reading "Women Who Run with the Wolves" by Clarissa Pinkola Estes and found that writing this is helping to "pin some small deaths to the ground". It is also helping me to see a balance between the lack in my early life and the richness and joy. This is something that has been hard for me.

Anyway, enough about me. Where are you from? There is a template you can use if that helps. You will find it here.