the moment i realized it was true i was talking to my sister on the phone. all it took was a simple question and my world went crazy. i couldn't deny it anymore. i told my story last night.
i breathed deep and let go and found words moment after moment - even after i figured there'd be nothing left to say. i spoke the hidden things and fought the lump of tears forming in my throat. and even though this was a safe space, a place where healing begins, my heart still beat to a different rhythm.
it's overwhelming when you've never placed one foot in front of another and accepted everything as part of you. your arms get a little heavy - your steps a little slower. but speaking it out loud - admitting the darkness - it strips and heals. once you're finished you sit there, laid bare and waiting.
i won't lie and say it was easy. i think i twisted about half of a tissue into tiny little balls in the space of about fifteen minutes - the other half fell shredded on the table.
when i was finished words like strong and courageous and brave were whispered. i didn't feel brave though. i don't feel brave. and i don't think this will change any time soon.
but here's what i am learning: doing it afraid means so much more when you pursue story. putting one foot in front of another seems a little lighter - a little less scary - when you know your story was scripted long before you shed a tear for the first time. your shattering paints a picture of the glory of redemption and this is something we must not forget.
the room was silent for awhile after i spoke my last word. my heart felt heavy - exposed. i wish you wouldn't have said anything she poked her tiny fingers in my chest and crossed her arms protectively.
someone sniffed and i glanced around the table and caught the gaze of a friend.
i'm sorry you were hurt by those who were meant to protect you.
a tear slipped down my cheek and i smiled. suddenly, the load i carried seemed even lighter.