Find Me

       Some days I find myself rushing through my life with purpose and drive.  I know where I'm headed and what step to take next to get where I'm going to be.  Other days I find myself struggling just to get from one moment to the next.  Some days I am strong and full of life, ready for new experiences.  Other days I find it hard to breathe just thinking about the fact that I'll have to go somewhere unfamiliar and be around other people.  I have been free of my abuser for over fourteen years now, and most days I think nothing of my past.  But some days I find myself smiling a little slower, my heart a little heavier, and my mouth a little quieter.  Some days I still flinch as the sun glints off of a belt buckle worn by a random passerby, and my heart skips a few beats at the sound of a raised voice.  Some days I find myself memorizing the make, model, and license plate of the car driving in front of me.  Not because I have a great memory, but because I subconsciously think that they may be on the way to commit a crime, or maybe they have a girl in their trunk who's fighting to get out and I'll have to testify in court one day.  For some people it may appear that I'm having irrational thoughts, but for me those thoughts were once a very real part of my everyday life.  Some days I know that I'm doing my best, but other days I need a helping hand.  Some days I find myself asking my son if he feels safe, if he has everything that he needs, and if he knows that I love him.  Some days I find myself looking for problems that aren't real in my marriage, because it's hard for me to trust that my partner doesn't secretly want to hurt me.  Some days I don't care how I look because I think that I can finally be comfortable with who I am.  Other days I find myself staring blankly at my skin, remembering the blood that once trickled through the little blonde hairs.  I often smile freely and dance without restraint whenever given the opportunity, but some days I find myself struggling to feel free and wondering if I'll always carry this pain.  Some days I find myself wishing that things in my life had gone very differently for my younger self, but other days I run my fingers over my scars and know that I am perfect.  I will never personally thank my abuser for the suffering that he caused; the shattering of my body and my mind.  But some days I find myself thanking the spiritual forces that be for bringing me to a place of continual healing.  I have a story, one that many other people have as well.  Every person on earth is on their own journey; no one can truly save anyone else.  Each person must walk their own path and choose their own healing.  While I sometimes sit in the sun and bask in the fun of the lighthearted and the unscathed, I often find myself curled up in the shade feeling every emotion and having to fight against each stray thought.  This is what makes it worth all of the pain.  Because the people who need help are not the ones out dancing in the sun, they're the ones hiding in the corner shadows.  I may not ever truly be able to pick someone up and carry them back into the light, or lay my hand on their wounds and heal them, but I can rest well at night knowing that, if only for a few moments, I stood in the shadows with those hurting people and held their hearts within my own.
Where do you find yourself?

Photo by Alessandra Vidotto

The Girl I Wouldn't Save

       Heavy hitter alert!  So in my quiet time this morning I noticed that I was feeling sad.  My heart was a little heavier than usual and my thoughts kept wandering to a girl that I once knew in high school many years ago.  I ignored these thoughts for a while until I reminded myself to be aware.  I turned off the radio in the car and allowed each roaming thought to produce a scene in my brain until I knew exactly what needed to be done.  I needed to remember.  This girl whose face was filling my morning thoughts belonged to an old friend, but one that I had not spoken to in years.  She was trouble, put quite plainly.  She was wild, she drank uncontrollably, she went home with strangers after long nights of dancing and often ended up in trouble with the police.  I loved her anyways, but had to distance myself.  Why was I feeling so guilty?  Because I could have saved her.  When I was fifteen I remember this girl coming over to visit for the first time.  She had stolen alcohol from her parents and proceeded to dance on the coffee table in front of my friends.  When they all lost interest and left the room, she admitted to me that her father had been sneaking into her room at night.
       I can still remember how my chest had tightened and my face grew red at the thought of what she was going through.  I immediately told her that she should tell her mom or move in with me or run away or call the police.  She had to do something!  But she gave me every reason she could think of as to why I had to keep it a secret, and I agreed to.  But as time went on and I kept her secret and watched her act out time and time again, I began to feel resentment towards her.  I didn't just resent her flirting with everyone else's boyfriends and flaunting her body, I resented her secret.  You see, she had the nerve to tell me about her secret and let me carry some of that weight.  But I had a secret of my own that I had never been brave enough to share with anybody.  I resented that I had been carrying the weight of my secret all by myself for so long while she seemed perfectly content to burden other people with hers.  I resented that, compared to her secret, my secret didn't seem very big anymore.  Not only was her secret worse than mine, but it was more complicated than mine.  But I think if I'm being completely honest, I resented how scared she made me feel.  It was a loss of control.  If she decided to tell someone then did I have to tell my secret too?  What would happen if people found out?  Would the family be torn apart?  Would anyone be mad at me?  Would everyone hate me?  So I did nothing.
       It's easy to say, "I was just a kid."  "I didn't know any better," is also a good excuse, but looking back as an adult I feel guilt because I should have said something to a trusted adult anyways.  I should have ignored my paralyzing fear and stood up for her.  If I had, then maybe she wouldn't have tried to kill herself only to awaken alone and covered in her own vomit two days later.  No one had tried to call her while she was passed out; no one even knew she was missing.  It's sad.  It's such a damn shame.  A girl as beautiful and smart and wonderful as her had become so wild from her inner pain that other people had trouble being with her.  I'm sorry.  I am so sorry.  I have tried to find this girl, to reach out to her and personally apologize, but I can't find her.  She has no social media account, her phone number has been changed, and her family is refusing to give out her contact information.  All I can do at this point is forgive myself.  But I won't give up on her either.  I wish that I had known back then that no one secret is worse or bigger than another. I wish that I had known that there was always help and support to be found, and I have nothing but overwhelming compassion for any woman who has been though sexual abuse.  You are not alone.
What's your #metoo?