A Year Later

A year ago, I shared the tiniest morsel of my story. The moment I did, things changed. I wrote that 

I would be called into question, that I worried I'd be cut out of the lives of others. And it happened. My integrity was called into question as a result of last year's share. I was called sinful by some. I think it's easier to attack someone speaking out than to stomach the reality sometimes. Some were asked to cut me out of their lives as a result. Most followed suit. And it hurt, deeply. 

But so much good came from it as well.

I can't begin to say the number of people that reached out as a result with stories to share. One person reached out and said that they felt they had been the offender is the situation and shared how eye-opening it had been to read. Another sent me police evidence photos of where their situation ended up, and stated that it started just as mine had.

I decided to share as a result of hearing of the death of a woman in town that was killed by abusive spouse. It was Domestic Violence Awareness Month and I was moved to share my experience. The only intent was to reach someone who needed to hear it. Abuse doesn't have to be strictly physical. And as someone in a situation that felt like a gray area, I found myself making excuses and allowing unacceptable, damaging behavior. I hate to think of anyone else feeling the same way, keeping quiet and carrying that load alone.

Almost a year later, the losses that came as a result still break my heart. But if this cautionary tale has reached one person, then I'm grateful.

Healing Process

My, how the lessons keep coming. It's such a process. That's why it's called a "healing process". There are many days when I need to remind myself of that.

I was recently at the doctor for my annual wellness exam and I talked about my anxiety. I've moved past the crying all day, every day that I initially experienced, praise God. When I said this, my doctor commented that I shouldn't be in that same place, that it's been a year. I should be better. I took a deep breath and reminded myself that he is a medical professional, not a mental health professional with expertise in betrayal trauma. He deals with physical medical symptoms of the body and the comment was not meant to offend. There's no way he could truly know the depth of this process.

One thing I've learned in my time in counseling is to give myself grace. Yes, I can carry on and continue to work, yes I can begin a relationship, yes it can look as if I've made it to the other side. In a sense, I have. I made it through the hardest days. But that doesn't mean that it's not still hard. The triggers still come. The feeling of loss for the family, for my niece and nephews still hurts my heart. And that's okay.

There is no time limit on the healing. And it's okay that it may not be understood by others. Or even by myself sometimes.

I remember my counselor saying how impressed she was last year that I managed to keep my job. She said that many women who have similar experiences end up losing their jobs because of the gravity of what they are dealing with. Keeping my job? I hadn't thought of that as a win until that point.

In the beginning, I was seeing my counselor three days a week just to keep going. One appointment, I sat in the waiting room staring at the clock. Tears welled up in my eyes and I looked at the seconds ticking by. It was three minutes over when I was supposed to start my appointment. It took everything in me to not completely lose it in that waiting room.

Recently I sat down reread some of my journal entries and blog posts from last year. My journal was full of prayers begging God to just carry me through the next moment, hour, and day. The pain felt so unbearable, I lived to make it to the next moment.

Reading the words my heart spoke in those times filled me with gratitude and humility, as well as pride. Is that possible? To be filled with humility and pride? I know 100% that I wouldn't have been able to make it through those days without God carrying me, even dragging me at times. And I felt...feel so stinkin' proud of myself for continuing to push through and rely on my faith to get me through those times.

When I share my story, it doesn't sound real. If I didn't live it, I don't think I would believe it. Hearing myself speak the words makes me stop and praise God for His Goodness.

Each day generally gets better. With anything, there are moments that come and I work through them. And I've learned not to put a time limit on myself.

Just keep swimming.