...tied up in knots...

Healing.

My word of the year for 2023.

Healing.

The literal and the figurative.

The physical and the abstract.

The body and the mind...or the heart...or the soul...or the lost, lonely inner-child still looking for a soft place to land...

It's more than a word, as I'm coming to realize.  More, even, than a change of lifestyle.

It is painstakingly untangling all the mess of all the intersecting traumas, and the barricades and avoidant/reactive responses that I once thought of as a safety net.

Healing is finding that every time I cautiously pull one on small thread to see if I can loosen it and pull myself free, it snags on something else.

Damage spreads, like a hairline fracture that gradually becomes deeper and longer.   The hits leave behind bruises...flesh and spirit becoming weaker and more sensitive.

And housed within one body...one mind...trauma and pain grow in overlapping layers, each spreading out and attaching to others.

The breaking of you becomes the making of you.

Which means, I'm only just now reconciling...

The making of me, will likely require the breaking of me.

Because some of those knots can't be untangled.  Some of them weren't made by me.

Those knots?

I have to just cut.

Cut, and hope that the whole tangled mess doesn't collapse in on itself.

Those knots are at the center.

~the unwanted child~

~the shattered victim~

The hard part of healing is that it isn't just one thing...one piece...one string at a time.  They all pull on each other and fight for dominance.  And the harder you pull on just the one thing that you think you can tackle today, the more you risk snapping that string and breaking the fragile web of safety knots with which, you've surrounded yourself.

So healing isn't easy.

Okay.

I guess.

I mean, if it was, wouldn't I have already done it?

Healing isn't easy.

Or linear.

You can't cram it into the calendar...one date at a time.

Because every step forward is impeded by a pull-back in some other area you weren't ready to acknowledge yet.

Healing is exhausting.

It's insomnia and panic-attacks.

It's adrenaline-surges and trembling hands.

It's forgetting how to form words and feeling your feet step backwards even as you are willing them to cross the threshold.

It's journaling...daily...taking note of every sensory reaction...the length...the aftershocks...and the recovery time.

It's tripping over strings you might have untangled but haven't yet discarded.

It's celebrating one success, but not being able to move toward the next.

Healing is hurting.

Healing is breaking down.

Healing is trying to break things down into smaller pieces, only to have them multiply and solidify and burrow down even deeper.

My healing, right now, is a repeated circuit of picking at one tangle at a time, to see if there are any loose threads I can pull out.

My healing is an exercise in exorcism...as old, unhealed wounds rise to the surface once again.

I'm tired.

I feel defeated.

I want to give up or give in or just settle, again.

Which is why these words are on this page, today.

To hold me accountable.

To dare me to try again tomorrow.

And hopefully...

to remind me, someday, of how far I've come.