I have spent an entire year on focus. Tiny particles I had swept under the rug were shook out and the dust settled all around. I suppose that just like spring cleaning, the time must come for us all to reevaluate from the inside out. It is transformative to decide which behaviors you should keep and which to discard. It is also exhausting to my bones.
Sexual abuse. Spiritual Abuse. Emotional Abuse.
I was one abused little person.
I didn’t know. I didn’t know how bad it was. I didn’t know because, unlike little girls allowed to sleep unscathed through the night, stay home sick in the safety of their home and wait until sex education to learn about sex, it was all I knew. I also didn’t know how far my survival skills would push changes into me for adaptability.
I didn’t feel my soul collapse into itself. I could not make choices but I could make concessions. The struggle stilled the sooner I compromised. The sooner I tucked in my corners and smoothed my wrinkles, I would be loved. I learned to make things prettier than they were, happier than they were and stronger than they were. Reality ceased to exist without pain.
So I cease to exist in it.
This morning, the world is covered with fog. Tree tops push their way out to the clear air. This is how I feel. Covered in fog and pushing my way out to the light.
I have had a tremendous year. A tiny footstep in my overall journey towards healing.
I still feel the ache. I still wonder. I still try to figure out the complicated equation.
Me + abuse = walking wounded
Me – abuse = what?
What have I lost? Who could I have been had these grenades of abuse not been tossed at me? How much time would I have had to develop if I wasn’t collecting detritus along the way.
I am resting more in the gratitude for the lessons. For the way I have been lead down this awful path. For my darling friends who have offered a soft spot on their couch, a glass of wine or hand held at pit stops along the way. It is not easy for me to be vulnerable.
I can write you my soul but if you asked me how I was right now, I would lift my eyes from this laptop, smile and say fine. It is dangerous to be vulnerable but their is no other way to flush out the truly lovely in your life.
I am grateful I chose to share this with all of you. These blog posts are my writings in the margins. The written record of my coloring outside of the lines. I write for myself, my sanity but I was so happy to find a few kind notes of solidarity and understanding from other members of the walking wounded. I hope that for those of you who have never been effected by child abuse, you have a clearer vision of the depth and width of the wounds.
Remember, silence helps no one.
I am grateful for the Lego architecture, messy pieces of art and lingering hugs from my children. I hope this is the last time they have to bear such a heavy veil of sadness. If it is not, I hope there are many lessons to be learned in just watching. I hope.
I am surprised to find that after a period of lamentations my cup is overflowing with gratitude. I am not grateful for ease. I am not grateful for the end. I am grateful that I chose truth.
If ignorance is bliss, knowing is peace. I choose peace.
P.S. The journey hasn’t ended. I just felt like I need to give you an update – especially for the walking wounded like me.