Beauty in the Scar

There is so much that I want to say on this site. There’s the story that I went through and that I want to tell. There are things that I learn everyday. And sometimes, there’s that place in between that can be both exciting and exhausting. I’m working on a post that’s exhausting. So I had to take a break. But while I was taking that break, I learned some new things about myself. I learned about how one scar where they sewed me up, simultaneously ripped open a tiny hole in my heart and allowed me to grow and to love.

Trauma likes to play games with your mind. It likes to distort your perception. You start to lose your trust. Trust in your doctors. Trust in yourself. Trust in the people who are supposed to care for you. Trauma with a side of paranoia.

Inhale……exhale……….inhale…………………exhale………..………inhale…………….…. “Is she supposed to be breathing like that? “Umm. Let me talk to the doctor.”

I’ve always been physically strong. If a neighborhood kid couldn’t climb a tree, I would. It didn’t matter how many cuts and scrapes I would get, I would climb as high as I could in that tree. It didn’t matter how many times in tumbling class I would fall on my face trying to land that full twist. I would push myself until I landed something that was good enough. If I could go back in time and give myself some advice, it would be to keep climbing those trees, because mental and spiritual and emotional and physical strength need to have balance and climbing those trees might just get me there.

There was a man who couldn’t fall asleep before 2am. He took pills. He had sleep studies. He used natural remedies. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t fall asleep. One day he was talking to his therapist. He told her that when he was in the war, they would be bombed every night until 2am. Thirty years ago. Thirty years. I couldn’t sleep either. But I didn’t go to war. I had a baby.