Broken, Bruised and Brave

 

 

Broken. Bruised. And Brave. Every single one of us. In some way or ten.

Sometimes it’s visible. Sometimes it isn’t. But every single one of us are fighting battles and hardships and stories in our minds telling us we don’t belong. We’re not worthy. We’re not loved, heard or matter.

Except we do.

Sometimes things happen to us. Things we couldn’t control or fix. Things that wounded, hurt, and bound us to darkness. And sometimes those things, that darkness, is hard to shed. We build lives anyway, managing to do so by stuffing those hard things back into tiny corners of our brain. Thinking the further we push it back, the harder it will be to find. The more we pile on top of it, the less we’ll have to deal with it. We’ll forget, right? New and good memories will be placed on top of them, and those painful truths will be lost forever.

Except they won’t.

Instead, they’ll surprise you in your consciousness, when you least expect it. You know those hot and hazy summer days? The ones that seem really beautiful on the surface, yet ripe for a storm popping up on the radar unexpectedly? That’s kind of like the darkness, the pain, the hardships we place in the closets of our brain, hoping we won’t have to see them again. We walk along our daily lives, trying to hold our faces to the sun. Eyes closed, looking up, feeling warmth on our face. Surprised when suddenly we hear the rumble of thunder, a crack of lighting, and feel big droplets of rain thumping on our face. We grab an umbrella and throw up our hood, hoping to avoid it all. We rush to cover, in our car, our home, or the overhang of a business. Waiting it out. Watching it rain. Not really feeling it. Trying to measure how long until it passes and celebrating once again, our ability to avoid getting wet. The rain passes, the sun comes out, and we hold our heads high again. Our feet are a little damp, but not soaked. We made it through another storm. But we forget, the rain leaves behind puddles we must yet trudge through, even though the sun is shining again.

Just because the rain isn’t still falling from the sky, doesn’t mean we won’t get wet.

Pain, heartache, loss. It’s all like those summer storms we try to avoid.

Despite this Fall weather, it’s felt a bit like I’ve been waiting out one of these summer storms. Until I finally realized, it wasn’t going anywhere. I’d been trying to shove that darkness back into the recesses of my mind, erase it from my heart. Hopeful that then I’d be able to just move swiftly along this path of life.

Except I couldn’t. And the darkness would manifest itself it ways I knew were not healthy. I wanted to write, but didn’t have the energy. This was a warning sign. One of my favorite places of strength and community and acceptance, my gym, didn’t appeal to me some days. Also, a warning sign. Going out to meet dear friends, ones I love and enjoy all the moments with…it all just seemed like too much work.

My life, usually painted in vibrant colors, was being brushed with muted strokes of grey.

I knew it was happening. But I couldn’t stop it. I wasn’t oblivious. I could feel myself slipping slowly. Into a place of indifference.

And that was when I knew it was time for something.

Yesterday, I started trauma therapy. I was anxious leading up to it. I knew I needed it. But I also knew I’d be meeting a new therapist. A new person would be exploring those back corners in the closet in my mind.

It’s going to hurt. For awhile. It is going to hurt, before it gets better. It doesn’t lessen the pain or sorrow, but it somehow makes it a bit more palatable, knowing I’m striving for a healthier me. Knowing that I must walk through the darkness, visit it more slowly and intentionally, before I see the light.

The ‘why’ of what led to trauma therapy doesn’t really matter. Well, it does for me and my therapist, but it doesn’t matter to you. Yet I understand minds are curious and wondering why I need this. I’ll tell you this much. There are multiple reasons I am seeking trauma therapy. One of which is to help me deal with having watched my child have breakdowns and attempts at self harm in years past. It hasn’t happened recently, but it still affects me. Haunts me. Worries me. And at times, consumes me. A simple glance at my phone, noticing the caller ID of the school makes my pulse quicken. An email in my inbox from his case manager has me reaching for theoretical armor and a sword for protection. My breathing quickens. My fear rises. My heart beats in my chest and my spirit drops. Why are they calling. What does the email say? What are they saying he did wrong this time? Is he okay? Did he hurt himself? How bad is it? What happens next? Will it ever end? Why can’t we just have normal days and normal childhoods? Why is everything so hard? How come no one understands us?

All from a ringing phone or incoming email notification.

I am coming to realize I live in a space of fear many days. It isn’t rational, but then fear rarely is. It isn’t always at the forefront, but it lies quietly in that corner of my mind, wielding silent power while is awaits to attack at any time.

And so, trauma therapy.

These upcoming weeks are going to be hard, but needed. Painful, yet freeing.

If you’ve been reading my posts for awhile, you know I often write about my son and his mental health. It is time for me to start sharing my own candid journey through the muck that is mental health. Glossing over my experience would be a disservice to you, to me and to the fight against stigma. I’m not free of the tight grip of darkness and pain. But I’m working towards freedom. I am a fighter and I’m not giving up.

As I walk this journey…and perhaps sometimes crawl, I will continue to write about it. I am scared. The stupid stories I tell myself about others judging me, worries me. A lot. But I’m doing this anyway.

Because I am not alone in fighting this battle. There are many of you. Fighting in silence. Every. Single. Day.

We may look strong on the outside, yet on the inside we are fragile, delicate, broken and bruised.

But we are brave. And we are in this together.