I took this photo a couple of weeks back. Looks basic enough, a girl with salty hair basking in the sunshine. #instagood
But look a little closer and you might see the streaks of salt down my face that held the river of tears I wept that day. See, I’m sitting in front of the spot I got married in 2017. I went back to reclaim the land, to try and pick up the pieces of myself that I’d left behind that day.
I walked, I swam, I prayed, I screamed into the water and let my tears mix with the sea, hoping it would clear away at least some of the pain. It helped some.
Truth is that I’ve tried so hard to overcome, reprogram and neutralise the trauma imprints that have been left on me since that relationship. I’ve had therapy, energy healing, reiki, done all the crying, exercised it out, drunk and smoked it out, tried new things, reignited old things, eaten well, eaten badly, not eaten at all, done all the self care, done the self loathing, gotten a professional diagnoses, thrown that away because I don’t want a label, thrown myself into work, done absolutely nothing, the list goes on and on. I even put my heart on my sleeve and loved someone again.
But despite all my efforts to reprogram my behaviours and beliefs, and to “heal” I still fuck up. Sometimes the wound opens. I describe it like fire. It’s a moment, even half of one, where the stimulus meets the response and my nervous system sends me into a panic. Sometimes I catch it. Often I don’t. It’s relentless. It takes no prisoners. It’s job is to protect me at all costs.
Honestly I’m so tired of talking about it. I’m even more tired of feeling it. I understand why it happens and that it’s not my fault it’s there, but I want to take responsibility for my own life. I am not a victim. I trip up regularly in the dance of self compassion and self responsibility.
I guess I’m realising now that all I can do now is surrender. Fighting isn’t working. I just have to be ok with the scars that come with being in life.
I’m sharing with you all because it’s healing for me to write so vulnerably. I’m no martyr. I’m a storyteller. *continued in comments* - 56 minutes ago