Experience. Strength. Hope.
This week, I’m embracing the emotional rollercoaster. I’m not even thinking about the hangover (yet). At this exact moment, I’ve been having a tug of war with myself. Allow the emotions to run or stuff them into my safe place. I’m surrounded by survivors. fighters. well wishers. pure hearts. I can see the pain in their eyes observing me as I struggle to decide if I’m going to allow the tears to escape. My poker face is a bit rusty. I’ve never actually had a poker face. My eyes give me away every.single.time.
Right now, I’m hitting another wave. A wave of mourning a family that doesn’t exist. One of the shares in support group tipped my scale and just threw me into the deep end. Haha! It’s not the single sharing, it was the series of shares. We were talking about step one. And how sometimes you play multiple roles. The scapegoat, the rebel, the ‘fixer’, the truth teller… and then the one that just is.
All of the shares tugged on my heart. The one that tipped my scale made me think about how I’ve tried everything I could to mend things with my family. Even during the most turbulent of times, we always said I LOVE YOU. And I’m sitting here, with tears in my eyes and my heart just hurts. To accept that the peace that I have to make with myself is that the ONLY thing that I’ve ever asked of my family is to not share details of my life with people that have tried to kill me. I think that is 100% acceptable and reasonable. Unfortunately, my family thinks otherwise. And coming to terms with that, making peace with that… my heart is experiencing another wave of grief.
The entire week has been phenomenal. Filled with quiet moments. Loud moments. Moments of absolute chaos and the ability to dance through the storm. Cancelling plans to prioritise self care has been a big win. Using my voice when others were causing harm was another big win. Completing my first week of classes at the gym is a MASSIVE win. Perhaps I’m just being “soft” because this is my emotional hangover. Sitting in that room when I was absolutely physically, emotionally and mentally exhausted is where I’m at today. Being in a super alert mode for about a week has finally come to a head. I know that I’ve been sleeping a lot more than usual. I accepted that as being the ‘balance’ to my new schedule. But today, it’s coming together…
I was encouraged to accept the truth, my truth, that things are the way they are and there is a very good chance that nothing is going to change. Not a single thing. Some days I’m ok with it because I secretly have hope that I’m wrong. My life is lived by the idea of hope. Hope that tomorrow the sun will rise. Hope that people in my family will call me. Hope that all the stuff I’ve been processing (domestic violence et al) is just a terrible dream. Hope that I’m having an out of body, watching my body, but really in a nightmare because father’s don’t threaten to kill their daughter.
My hope that fathers love their daughter.
My hope that mothers love their daughter.
My hope that brothers protect their sister.
My hope that all of that doesn’t make sense because I love me and I protect me. The experience. The strength. The hope.
I’m stuck in the stage of the hope and I don’t like the dark truth. A truth that no matter how much I hope, what is in my heart will never ever happen.
I’m holding space for my heart to hurt. The tears to fall. My soul to realign with all parts of me. I breathe and sit in this space for a few moments.
My hope is that during these moments, I start to congratulate myself for showing up for me. I cannot make my family love me. I cannot make my family protect me. I can control how I view myself and despite everything, I know that my heart is enormous. My heart is pure. My heart hurts (at this exact moment) but my hope is that tomorrow it will hurt less. And the day after that even less…
My journey continues…
#OneDayAtATime #DomesticViolence #Recovery #Trauma #Family #Grief #Heartbreak