I dance here triumphant…

Deeply furrowed in the depths of my brain are pathways I always took.

Ingrained, reactive and forged with pain and trauma. I am trapped in the trenches worn deep.

Helpless and stuck at the mercy of the past buried deep in my brain. In beliefs others reinforced.

Until now.

I am rewiring it. With blood sweat and tears I curse at my lot. But plough on ahead. Determined.

And. Now.

I dance here triumphant. A million explosions of delight and success burst in my brain. Creating a ripple effect and new pathways emerging. Of battles won & of anxiety overcome. I dance with the music turned loud.

I did it. I cheer and pump the air. I laugh as my family arrives and I dance even more with joy.

And the paths in my brain have detoured, past the thoughts that I’m hopeless.

Past the thoughts that say I do it wrong, that I’m messy or disorganised.

That I am helpless and needy and incapable.

That I am weak and need somebody to help me.

I’ve done it! I cheer and with pride I look around me.

I did it my way.

I chose my own path.

And I channeled new paths, I created new thoughts and I silenced critical voices.

I rise now triumphant. I stand in my own strength holding my head up high. And I say a soft nonchalant “goodbye”.

Moving on.

I sit in the moment. Letting the heaviness settle.

For a bit.

Safely.

Appropriately.

Respectfully.

I remember everything this place represents. Freedom, safety, belonging.

A place of my own.

A place to grow.

A place free from abuse and criticism.

A place for my sons to grow, play and belong.

Welcoming and cosy. My home.

My escape.

Tears trickle down my cheeks.

I remember the first night here. I remember how my work friends unpacked and set up my space. I remember pizza and kids playing on the stairs.

I remember waking up that first morning and the disbelief and amazement that I had left him.

That it was over.

That I was safe.

Time has changed.

I am not that same person. I have cried a million tears since then. I have laughed a million times. I have created and settled in. I have explored who I am. I have challenged who I am.

I have loved and I have lost. I have chosen myself over and over again.

I did not choose to leave this time.

But I did choose when and where my path takes me now.

And as I shut up each box and each memory. I thank these bricks and mortar for the past three years.

I thank this space for being mine. For being safe. For being a happy, bright and cheerful place.

And when I open the new door to the new home ~ I know that it will also be my space, it will also be safe, happy, bright and cheerful ~ because I know I take all that with me.

I loved my home. Thank you for your space.

Farewell

April 2019

The journey is mine

The journey is mine. This path that I walk. The twists and the turns and the highs and the lows.

The battles I face, tho alone I am not, are mine to contend and decide and to plot.

To stand in my own shoes and stare at the world.

I felt naked, alone, afraid and confused.

I looked to the right to the left up and down. I asked and I begged for some clear absolutes.

Tell me please if I’m doing this right? And some they will tell me all their insight.

And I get their perception I take their swing on things.

And value someone else’s ideas & preferences. My own stuck below and I think they are worthless.

I’ve let others decide, advise & lead me…but stood there still feeling those feelings,

naked, alone and confused,

with no absolutes.

I come now to find. I do not need them! For inside of myself I have guts that will guide me.

And mistakes to make and heartache, most likely. But to me I must listen firstly and bravely,

with no guarantees,

and stand in my own shoes and stare at the world to

decide for myself

which road I will choose.

The journey of processing trauma

If you cannot turn the pain inward. If you cannot inflict pain upon yourself to shift the unbearable pain from inside.

Then you do, in fact, have to bear it.

You do, in fact, have to feel it.

When clenched inside the pain festers and the coping mechanisms of abusing yourself are the only tool you have.

And as you move through the exhausting journey of processing trauma those old tools are challenged and you’re changed.

And no longer can you hold back that agonising pain.

And in this stage.

At this time.

You hang precariously between too sides.

Loud voices rage what left they hold of their truths. Screaming at us of our worthlessness, our shame.

While others still remind us not to harm ourselves.

But that would help.

It would slow it down.

It would quash the pain.

For a moment.

Instead.

I let it take hold.

It slumps upon me. At first, in manageable, fits of pain.

But it builds and it builds.

And it builds.

To a torrent of unbearable agony.

A pain in which death is more desired and no analgesic can help.

A pain that must be felt and survived.

At what cost? And for what gain?

I sit.

I sit in it.

In a dark world of my own.

Where pretence has shattered around me.

Where brokenness has arrived.

At what cost.

Is the cost too great? I am asked and I cannot answer.

Because it both is and yet…

For what gain?

For what gain, I wonder. For. What. Gain?

And I know.

That I hold within a small girl’s tightly clenched fist

The answer to that.

Radical Acceptance

I don’t want this life.

I don’t want to have to fight every FUCKING DAY.

I’ve had enough.

I want to walk away from my life.

I want to have a different life.

I want to get up AND NOT live my life within the shadow of abuse.

I want to live without fear of being triggered and spun out of control.

It’s not fair…it’s just not even close to fair…

I have to…

I have to accept this.

I HAVE TO.

BECAUSE this is my life.

This is my life. My fucked up life.

This shitty fucked-up messed-up pathetic life is mine.

I am the broken abused child.

I am the woman who gets spun out of control by who knows what.

Who cries herself to sleep.

Who struggles with daily life and relationships

Who has memories after memories of being hurt. Of being raped. Of being abused.

I am the one with multiple identities. I am the one who can be three or seven or fifteen or or or other ages that are long past but hold me, pull me, draw me back.

I am the one who has to fight.

I am the one who has to try and decipher whether my own thoughts are rational, but also at the same time I have to learn how to trust myselves.

I am the one who has to live through incredible darkness. I am the one who has to survive it.

Because this is my life.

And it’s shitty and fucked up. But, it is my life.