“I know we all see many things differently or to varying degrees, but there has to be a rope of consciousness of what is authentically right and what is wrong that circles the world; there for any of us to grab a hold of — when we are of the mind knowing we must do what is right not only for our souls but for the good of all people.”
James Randall Chumbley
Why do I write?
There came a point in my life that I could no longer keep up the facade that I was the product of a near perfect family after I moved from Middle, Georgia to Atlanta. Even though the town in which I grew up, Warner Robins, was only ninety or so miles from the biggest city in what is referred to as the Peach State, they may as well have been on two different continents.
Like many people would do in my situation, I hid the truth of my childhood. I kept the secrets of the abuse and violence that were my normal — all that of which was confined inside the walls of a small house on Shirley Drive. Even today, so many years later, when I look back, I still cannot believe it was as bad as it was for that scared little boy who still lives somewhere inside of me — the scared little boy that tried to save his mother and his sister from his father; the boy that became a man and believed he could somehow make up for the sins of a brutal man and undo all the damage — including freeing his mother from the alcohol in which she tried to drown her pain, and save her from the mental illness she endue that was exasperated by the reign of terror rain down by a monster.
It got to the point that living a lie became exhausting and I needed to free myself from that childhood, and telling the truth was the only way I knew to find that freedom, and hopefully, help others that share an unwanted kinship. I've exposed some very personal aspects of my life in my writing. Which is somewhat of a contradiction, being that, in many ways, I'm a very private person. I do so in hopes of touching others that shared that similar history, in a heartfelt attempt to helping them not feel so alone in a world that, at times, can seem isolating and foreboding. It gives my life purpose and I've been touched time and time again by readers who have reached out to me to share their own stories of their life's heartaches and hopes. I trust by exposing myself in such a manner, I can instill a sense of compassion and caring — and above all, forgiveness for ourselves.
James Randall Chumbley
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