She Stirs

Healing.

This is the number one word in my life right now. I am healing. I am healed. I began this process of uncovering my wounds, and it’s finally working.

I think of it this way. I didn’t know I had wounds. I knew I was hurting, but that’s all I knew. I didn’t know why or how to fix it. I didn’t know that I could fix it. I honestly didn’t know it was a me problem.

It took my life literally crumbling around me to wake me up. A lifetime of pain finally bringing me to my knees. It’s a wonder I got up. It’s a wonder I had the strength. I didn’t have the strength, actually. Michael did. Michael offered me a hand. “Get up,” he said. “You can lean on me 100%. I’ve got you.”

So I did. Not because I wanted to, but because I had no other choice. I couldn’t go on. I was going to die. I had already died twice. I wasn’t gonna make it a 3rd time.

So I got to work. I turned my gaze inward instead of outward. That part was difficult. My eyes kept darting outward. “No! Out here! We have to keep looking out here!” my eyes screamed. “We don’t know how to look inside!” So I mustered all my strength and turned my eyes inward time and time again until they settled into their new, unpleasant gaze.

I started looking for wounds. The first one I found was covered in layers and layers of newspaper, crusted over with 30 year old dried blood. It festered and ached beneath the makeshift bandage. Slowly and painfully I peeled the layers back, with each sheet of bandage I re-opened the wound until it was exposed, gaping, sick, deep. It hurt tremendously. “You must clean it and give it air,” I was instructed by something, everything, the Universe, myself.

“But what if people see? I can’t just leave it exposed like that!”

“People can already see, darling. Did you think they couldn’t? Trust me. It will close with time. But don’t cover it up.”

As that one began to heal I felt relief. As the pain from one wound subsided, the sharp pain of another just to the left or to the right sprang up.

“Another one? Another four? I can’t go through this anymore!”

“You must,” said the Universe. “Or you will literally die, Katy. It’s okay. We can get through this. You’ll be healed in the end.”

Healed.

Sometimes the pain was so great all I could do was lay in bed and stare out the window wondering if it was all worth it, desperately searching for a shred of joy or comfort. Sometimes the work was so difficult I had to stop and rest for weeks.

But I kept on going. I had to. I had to for myself, but I had to for my husband and for my son. They deserve a healthy, strong wife and mother.

Every time I exposed a wound and began to heal it, 20 more popped up. The realization this would take a very long time and be excruciating settled in, but I couldn’t turn back now. I had come too far.

But I did it.

I’m not perfectly healed, and wounds will pop open and bleed forever as I am riddled with them, but it will happen less and less. New wounds will form, but now I know how to take care of them. Now I know what they are, what they look like, not to ignore them, not to slap a bandaid on and call it a day.

The last few weeks have not been without pain, but I’m starting to recognize myself. I’m not who I was before, but I like who I see in the mirror. She is strong. She is wise. She is beautiful. Her body is a new shape, her smile has changed. She is a woman. And I like her.

I haven’t spoken to my mother in months, nor my sisters. They can’t hurt me anymore. I won’t let anyone hurt me anymore. I thought love and deep pain were intertwined. I thought one must come with the other, a perfect pair, twins almost. That isn’t true. Love isn’t without pain, but it certainly exists without that kind of pain.

I wake up with joy. Can you imagine? Sometimes I get up early just because I’m excited to start the day. What a wonder. My whole life I woke up in agony, praying to go back got sleep. Just 10 more minutes. Just 15 hours of the day. Please… I did’t hurt when I was sleeping.

A few days ago I woke up to the tiny voice of my baby boy in the other room, gently calling out for me.

“Mama. Mama? Hmm… Mama?”

It sounded like an angel, a real live angel calling my name. What a gift. I love my life. I’m proud of myself.