Today I messaged a stranger thanking her for sharing a piece of my work on social media –something I never thought I would do. Not the messaging a stranger part, but the part where a stranger even had access to a piece of me I thought I would always keep tucked away inside.
I expected that the healing process would be simpler. I expected myself to bury those feelings for a long, long time. I expected them to push their way up eventually, I would spend a therapy session or two on them, push them back down and repeat this cycle every now and again –once a year maybe- for the rest of my life. Turns out, there was a different plan for me.
I lost a giant piece of myself –or more accurately, willingly surrendered a giant piece of myself- to a friendship I thought was helping me. All things considered, that friendship was doomed from the start and I chose to turn a blind eye to that. I buried myself in someone else’s struggles because I didn’t want to deal with my own. Spoiler alert: it didn’t work.
I finally allowed myself to put words to the way I’ve felt for years now. I allowed strangers to read those words. I allowed strangers to relate to those words. I feel ok about that. Good even. Life is painfully short. I think about the fact that I still carry burdens from 12+ years ago, some from even longer. In 12 more years, I don’t want to still be carrying this. In one more year, I don’t want to still be carrying this. That is why I am choosing to work through it, all the way through it. I will put words to things as necessary. I will accept reassurance from strangers who have been through the same thing. I will be unapologetic about healing.