There are seasons of my life still hidden; memories repressed beneath layers of trauma.
I exist unaware, until a moment resurfaces – often fleeting, pried awake in the night by a memory. I grasp to hold it, to add this piece of information to the puzzle in my mind I am forever trying to make complete but it is gone as quickly as it came and I am left with only the emotions surrounding it; the fear, the panic, the isolation.
The grief. The grief. The grief. The grief.
It is always the grief that captures me the most. The split second of reliving that which I could almost now – so many years later – pretend never happened. But these moments arrive and with them I am reminded of all I try and forget. I am reminded of all that was taken from me. I am reminded of the childhood I never had. Of the suffering that was not mine to carry yet it is there still, buried in my mind; land mines I have spent my life treading around with such care until the gradual years of erosion bring them to the surface; exposed.
Healing is never a straight line. There are moments of grief; yet also moments of awakening as we are broken open with such harsh beauty. We must learn to trust the voyage. To trust our memories surface at this time for a reason. Often when we are safe and able to work through them. Often when there is something we need to make sense of. Often when we are ready to heal that moment in our lives to forge ahead and make space for new moments.
We must learn to trust the process; to lean into our uncomfortable emotions. To not avoid the pain, but no longer be afraid of it either. To allow our wounds to become scars; our bodies laced with the legacy of a warrior who not only lived, but survived.