It is a matter first of beginning – and then following through.
- Richard L. Evans
I am stalling again this morning. There are places in my mind and soul I simply do not wish to go. I will go – of that I am certain. Whether I get there this morning is another question entirely. I am up and I will write. Where it will take me is anyone’s guess.
At least I am finally able to understand why I feel a certain way – eventually - and try not to let the feelings consume or overwhelm me, although they often come dangerously close. The past few days have been a flurry of unexpected and uncomfortable feelings, often directed at a completely unrelated situation or, worse, someone who has the misfortune of being nearby.
Again, this is something I want any survivor of abuse to realize: feelings cannot hurt you and all feelings – good or bad – eventually pass. When they arise, I believe they are like the early warning signals on your car. They alert you to what is happening to you, around you or inside of you – whether emotional, physical or mental. They are meant to be felt, processed and then put in their proper place, with the proper perspective. This sounds far easier and simpler than it ever is but that is truly what can happen – if we let it. It does not happen overnight. As a wise friend often reminds me, “Time is the four letter word no one likes to hear. If you walked 20 miles into the woods, then you have to walk 20 miles out.’’ On a good day, I’m about 10 miles out; on others, it feels like I have the full 20 stretching out before me.
I want desperately to cross over to the point of perspective on certain events and feelings but I’m afraid I haven’t yet. That this will have to take place in the process of writing a book is, I guess, just the way it was supposed to happen. I began writing thinking the processing part was complete – and thus I was ready to write. I did not suspect the writing would become the process. Hmmm. Had I known, I may not have embarked. I am grateful I did not know.
By now, any reader may be wondering, “Geez, what is so awful that she has stalled now for two chapters?” I’m wondering myself. The truth is I’m just not sure. When I became blocked, I jotted down a brief outline of what remained to tell. None of it looked too terrifying. None of it has not already been discussed openly and in great detail with friends or other survivors. Maybe that’s just it – I’m almost tired of talking about it. How much more can be said, I often wonder. And how truly beautiful to reach that point. I guess this really may be for that woman somewhere who may need to hear it. I’m not fooling myself, though. I know it is far more for me.
Most writers take a few pages at the beginning of their story to thank those who have been vital to its creation. Perhaps I will do the same, if this is ever published. But since certain people close to me have been so much a part of this process, I will note them briefly here. Again, another woman may come to know that she, too, will need others along her own road to recovery. I suppose a person might be able to do it alone – but I doubt it. Without the shared wisdom, understanding and support of others, many of us would have given up long before reaching a place of peace with ourselves and our past. I would not be writing this without the daily encouragement of three very special people. They give me the motivation to keep going and I could very well trash the whole idea if they were not so intricately involved – and expecting me to continue. Again, to the woman on her own journey of discovery – whether through writing or simply sharing with others – remember this: your mind can be like a bad neighborhood. Don’t go there alone.