The Sanctuary Within

The fact that I am here is a miracle that is not lost on me. The hard part about that is living in a world that doesn't celebrate much of anything, unless it involves a celebrity doing it. My story seems to have fallen on deaf ears. I wonder, what would make a story like mine matter to those who simply do not care about people like me? 

I vacillate between continuing to blog or post my words of wisdom on social media, sometimes temporarily shutting down said accounts for days (months, years) at a time. But time and time again I hear the whimpering of a little girl who never got to speak her truth, begging me to keep allowing her to tell her version of events. It's important to me, and that is enough of a reason to keep writing. 

Let's be honest, I am not who the people would have chosen to be the voice to speak out on the things that I do. They would never have offered me the leadership role. One glance might tell you why, but we've slept on the foundation that was my birthright for as long as we've existed. We do not want to hear the poor speak up. We aren't interested in the woeful stories of the trauma victims of "the Hood". We would rather follow glitzy pages online, full of glamorous pictures, than invest ourselves emotionally into anything that doesn't fit the aesthetic of the image we ourselves would love to one day live up to. It's ok, but I can't imagine a more powerful place to come from than the truth. Though the truth often isn't pretty, because it is in fact, the truth.

I recently made a gigantic move in my personal life, stepping out of the confines of a twenty plus long relationship with a narcissist. The space that I needed to finish my healing journey has made it's self present in my current life, but at the same time, is there ever really enough of it to fully heal? I find myself chasing rest like it's air. While simultaneously reaching for new heights, a little at a time. Some of those adventures have ended in epic disappointment. Like finding out I can't in fact, afford to invest in furthering my education right now. And some I'm finding easier to go back to that I thought I would at my age. Like getting to the gym a few more times a week.

At the risk of taking this to a melancholy place, I should admit that none of this has been easy. I'm always exhausted. I'm terrified of becoming homeless, of failing to uphold what little bit of security I have managed to create for myself and my children. The past has showed me that if anything good is going to happen to me, it'll be hard fought for. And I'll definitely be doing it alone. You can't trust a dream when the dream is a vision that nobody else seems to want to come to life. And yet, a dreamer will still dream a dream, because it is a dream worth dreaming. Even if they die with that dream in their heart, never having manifested the change they wanted to see while in body on Earth.

I'm not going to lie, scraping the bottom of the healing barrel has been traumatizing in and of it's self. I often stop, forget to breathe, and whisper, "that actually happened." And not just to anybody, to me. It happened to me. I survived that? It's been a rough few years as memories of darker times have crept into my psyche. Or back into my psyche. Sometimes I wish I had never remembered at all. This isn't an episode of True Crime. It's my life. This is my legacy. This is my gift to the world essentially, wrapped up in horror and dreadful experiences of the most inhumane kind.

I would be lying if I said I always feel like the Heroine in my own horror movie. Sometimes I just feel sad, lifeless, pathetic. I had to turn a movie off last night, one that has been a long time favorite, because it just hit too close to home. A horror movie at that. It was oddly like watching myself onscreen, and it became difficult to pay attention. I have never expressed much pain about the things that occurred in my life, because I had to be strong. But being strong isn't an option I want to have to honor anymore. I don't want to be the poster child for surviving with ease and grace. I want to be fully human. The rain pours in my heart constantly, and I am left with the wounds of all of those who chose not to heal. I am tainted by their impure hearts. And I am sickened by that. The way a good mother ought to be over the shit her (inner) child had to suffer through.

I have been raped, beaten, kidnapped, held hostage, burned, bitten, and left for dead. I have not been loved the way a beautiful, honest, kind, gentle, soul like the one I know my inner child to be, should be loved. I have been tossed aside, thrown out like trash, and blatantly ignored while screaming for help. Nobody ever came, and I was forced to create a sanctuary within. It has made me resilient, unstoppable, a force to be reckoned with. But again, I reiterate, I don't want the job. This is a tragic way for a survivor to feel. Alone in their trauma. 

Maybe I owe this blog to the world. Maybe I am supposed to bleed on every line I write, my words causing a corruption of the cold hearted. Maybe I am supposed to help myself bloom so that one day, I can teach the others who have been mutilated and tortured by those who call themselves fellow human beings, reach that sanctuary within. So that nobody can ever hurt them again. So that nobody can ever take them through the deepest pits of Hell again. So that they too can pass on the torch lit by a gentle heart willing to heal it's self despite the hardened hearts of those who skip healing in favor of egotistical gains. What the world needs now, is self love, sweet self love ...

To little me, you never have to shut up again. You do not owe the world your unbearable grief stricken silence. They can drown in the sea of your sadness, because you matter. Your story of survival and rebirth, it matters. Even if they try to convince you that it doesn't, and that you aren't important. Our stories matter. Our stories will save lives, break hearts wide open, and instill a sense of purpose in those who have long lost their way in the darkest layers of this society. Beneath the feet of those who for some reason, choose violence over seeing themselves for the monsters that they have become. 

Those of us choosing to authentically heal every wound left on the corpse of who we were forced to become to survive, we are the light workers. We are the teachers. We are the masters. And we know they way, even if they try to convince us we are lost.

A soul connected to spirit can never be lost. It'll always be led back to the sanctuary within, if it is willing to listen to the sounds of it's own beating heart, in the silence where it's eternal truth can be heard throughout the echoes of time. Always a part of the collective, always a leader in it's willingness to seek new heights within. 

A true spiritual master doesn't expose it's self to the elements unless it knows that it can and will conquer them. We've only forgotten that we are stronger than the illusion that we have reckoned we are.