At the age of eight balance became just a word and only a restful place for others. From that day when rape occurred two separate people were born. The one family expected and the other, the real me. But she went so far underground the search for her is ongoing. Speaking my truth was not allowed.
Truth. That from such a young age opposites of great proportion had to be held and dealt with deep inside. Not yin and yang where balance meets but a chasm so erupted there is no bridge, split in half. Hate/love, terror/calm, extreme anxiety/semi-quietness, whatever can be felt is in extremes.
To slow things down where feelings can merge allowing a place that feels possible to live in comes only after challenges are faced; speaking one’s truth despite the family’s horrible obstacles as they insist on faking pretense for their own selfishness, acknowledging that the horrors one suffered were suffered and that the little girl who suffered them is in you…stop leaving her, continuing to touch home, that place inside that others stay connected to and take for granted, a place you’ve been searching for all your life, a life of rage, will the flames ever fan out?
So many challenges faced each day, over and over again. Had she been allowed to suffer her pain openly she would not be mute today. She would not have a life wishing not to have it. She would know wholeness not just moments of it.
If you go to her where she hurts and help her, you save a life.