Continuing with the wellness streak, my body cooperated yesterday. Granted, I was a tad sore from all of Wednesday’s moving around, but overall, not a bad day. I was able to get some errands ran and still have some energy left to write and crank out some editing.
Emotionally, yesterday was a little rough.
As I’m sure you all know by now, I work behind the scenes over at Band Back Together. I also write for them occasionally. Each month, we put the spotlight on a certain topic and will feature stories around this theme. November’s topic is Recovery.
Recovery can mean many things to any number of different people. I imagine most people associate it with addiction or substance abuse, but those of us who’ve known deep struggle know that recovery can be about so much more. To me, it’s the process of healing.
In that vein, I started to write about my recovery. I had a few ideas of what I wanted to cover, but ultimately, it was a comment by someone on Twitter that decided my path. I would talk about healing from intimate partner rape. While it’s not something I hide, it’s also not something I share with everyone. Being with The Band has helped that. There is no shame in what happened to me, I was not at fault. By taking the stigma away, I became a survivor, no longer a victim.
However, as I sat there prepared to talk about the change from being a victim to surviving, I found myself reliving that part of my past. What emerged instead was a re-telling of the night it all became too much, the night he tried to break me.
I hesitated before hitting the submit button, but only a second. Yes, I was baring my soul here. But what if somewhere there’s a girl like me, hurting, unsure if she can ever heal? Isn’t it my duty to show her that life can be better, we can and will heal?
Yesterday, that story was posted on Band Back Together.
The support from my friends was immense and for the better part of the day, I was able to forget that this piece of me was sitting there for everyone to read. But as my boyfriend headed off to work and I returned from errands, I was bombarded with fears.
For a moment, I was back in that truckstop, silently weeping for the loss of something I couldn’t yet name.
Then my phone beeped, showing a message from Tracie.
As I watched those pandas, I was reminded of the good in the world, the good in my life. I was reminded that I am a survivor, I have survived. I have recovered.
I don’t know if Tracie knew I needed that smile yesterday. Knowing her, I’m sure she did.
Showing her how thankful I am for that light in my day will be a fun project for me. As it is, Tracie’s home already sports a few examples of my craftiness. Her daughter is a doll and Tracie is kind enough to let me spoil the both of them.
Self-care yesterday was hard. My body wasn’t screaming at me but my heart was. I spent the evening curled up with work to distract my mind and give my emotions time to work themselves out. It may not sound very relaxing, but sometimes letting yourself heal requires a little work.
**Editor’s note: This was supposed to be posted Friday, November 16 but WordPress was not cooperating.