but it's not my story.

i've been struggling a little lately.

i love to write, and even though i'm not really great, it helps to relieve my stress. i can just pour my frustration onto a page (or a word document, i'm a modern-girl) and let it go.

i even like to share my writing. hence this lovely little blog, right?

but.
i can't tell a story that is not my own. there is a lot of sadness around me all.of.the.time. luckily, happiness and hope usually outweigh tragedy - but recently, that's just not my reality. don't worry, folks, things are okay with me.

i love my students.
and oh my goodness. i need. need. to share these stories. i am carrying around so much shared-pain and haven't quite yet found the outlet for it. these are not my stories to share. we're talking AIDS and drug-deals-gone-wrong and child-abuse and adult-illiteracy and malnutrition.

it's a burden enough to help share the load - to be a listener, a crying-shoulder. i can't even fathom what it is to live these stories.  to deal with such sadness and despair on a daily basis. to go to sleep not knowing what will happen during the night, and to wake up in the morning and not find any hope in a new day.

i have never, ever cried so much in my life for pain that is not mine.
but i have faith that there is a reason for pain. and that there is hope. and that... someday, these stories will get told. and that the burden of carrying that pain will be lifted - not from my shoulders, but from the story-owners'.