A Buried Piece Resurfaces

A little girl acknowledged her memories and used her voice to speak her story with a woman’s conviction and compassion. That was 10 days ago in the sacred, safe space for a women only writers workshop. Before that, it had been over 20 years since she mentioned a small but important detail of a piece of her story to a room of drunken, drugged girlfriends. A small but important detail that shocked the room and caused one of them to repeat what she’d said in a screeching voice that cracked. She didn’t say it to shock anyone, she was just participating in the conversation about something they’d all given up and how old they’d been when it happened. She’s fuzzy on the gist of the conversation after that, they were high and drunk after all so it got laughed off. The joint got passed, the bottle got shared, the conversation moved on.

Today the little girl retold her story to the woman’s therapist tonight. Another safe space, this time with a professional’s opinion and feedback. This time, the little girl and the woman push through denial, disconnect, minimization and shame so they are not caught in the undertow of what’s underneath this particular piece of their story. The woman’s kick-ass therapist tells them the statistic of 1 in 4. I’m sure you know what statistic. All the woman can think and voice is that she never thought she was one of those writers. Who had a particular story or essay to tell the world. The kind of story or essay that comes with a warning of content. She is not what happened so long ago, that’s not what she wants her art, her story to be about. The kick-ass therapist gently agrees and says it doesn’t have to be. But it is important to acknowledge the truth of our story, without shame, without blame, without censure. The therapist points out how the practice of yoga releases emotions and memories. The woman looks back in stunned recognition of the truth in the therapist’s statement. The woman points out how living from the heart, creating safe spaces within herself and the process of writing can also release emotions and memories… Son. Of. A. Bitch.! The therapist says with a gentle smile, “You are good.” As a means of acknowledging how far the woman has grown, healed and evolved, confident she will continue to do so. (Later, at home alone, as the woman recalls those words and that moment, she weeps)

And so here’s the thing about this journey to my heart, my true self. I get to meet myself unexpectedly. These reintroductions create ripples of memories that illuminate the paths I’ve tread and hopefully provide healing for where I am going. Where is that? Where ever He Calls or Leads. Lately, the path has been ever inward.