a close friend of mine once told me that recovering from something is a lot like being in a rowboat. you sit in the boat facing backward, toward the thing that happened...all the while rowing away from it. i think this metaphor captures the dual nature of recovery perfectly. i don't have a heart that ever really forgets...but i have a heart that forgives. and that's like looking forward and backward at the same time.
normally i'd berate myself for either looking back too much or trying to pretend i'm further past those things than i actually am...and if you're anything like me, you know there's no winning in that.
when the heart breaks
it don't break even
{ the script }
it don't break even
{ the script }
but i'm not doing that this time. i'm done losing to myself. and i think i've reached a turning point in my recovery because i'm feeling things i haven't felt before. i'm uprooting from soil that isn't rich anymore. i'm unfolding wings that have never flown; i can tell because they're extra feathery.
for a long time i've wanted to eradicate all the things that have left their mark on me because i thought they made me look used and ugly. i often feel like everyone on the street can see right through me to the things i've been rejected for. i carry these things so closely every day, so they just feel so...obvious. and i figure that's why no one wants to keep me...because my faults and shortcomings are so evident. i don't know if i'm ready to accept the truth that the right people will actually find me beautiful despite the things i lack...but i read these words this week and they're helping me to see myself and my marks in a new way.
your scars will become lights
for others. don't hide them.
for others. don't hide them.
{ carl lentz }
i think i'm ready to face fully forward. i think i'm getting out of the rowboat. the water is a bit shocking and i feel my legs going numb. but there are trillions of iridescent creatures buoying me up and forward. i wonder at the beauty of the freezing sea and realize it is my own arm making the arctic circle that takes my breath away. i know the journey is long. but somewhere deep i also know that strength will pour from the very wounds i thought would kill me. so i will propel myself steadily toward a sun that never sets...
she
1 comment:
I love that analogy. You have some wise friends. I miss you today.
When I was a child learning to swim, my mom would stand in front of me and hold her arms out. "Swim to me!" I would, but I KNEW she must be moving backward and I was swimming to a target not attainable. She lied/assured me she wasn't moving, and I eventually believed her. Now I know, she was moving - but for my benefit, to test my stamina, to help me prove to myself that I was INDEED now a swimmer.
I hope you know what I mean when I say that I am holding my hands out to you, and I swear I am not moving.
But I am.
And you are indeed whole.
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