Journal #3
The road is long, and ever winding.
In my moments of overwhelm and fear I find myself trapped in the reflex of catastrophizing an imagined future where the chance of redemption is unobtainable. In my formative years I was inculcated with a narrative that defined me as hopelessly inadequate, and my only assurance of value was contingent upon sources outside of myself. Since that time, I have spent a tremendous amount of effort eliminating the people and environments that relentlessly eroded my sense of self-worth. However, despite my success in establishing and maintaining boundaries, I am now faced with the final trappings that abuse imparts upon a survivor.
As with all trauma survivors, I am left with the dangerous artifacts of my past, tumbling through my system in wait for activation, and only I possess the tools to cleanse what predatory spirits continue to haunt the hidden corners of my mind, heart, and soul. In my most vulnerable moments, those ancient lies are resurrected and in order to move forward I must consistently sooth those invisible wounds with the sound salve of compassion repeatedly administered over time’s steady flow. It is the cross that every trauma survivor must bear, in that we did not create this injury, but it is our responsibility to forever mind its looming potential to destroy our peace.
There are still times when I label every decision I’ve ever made as an ignorant mistake, or invalidate my deepest intuitions by stereotyping them as vapid imaginations. But in the momentary glimmers of clarity we are supernaturally gifted, I can take a step back and marvel at the astonishing beauty of the winding road I have paved over the years. Those impossible mountains I have conquered are more majestic in the atmospheric haze of dusk, and I can look forward to the steps I take towards the dawn.
Thank you for joining me on this journey today.