There comes a time and place, when life swirls around us so quickly that we hardly have a millisecond to catch our breath before the funnel of change overtakes us again. That has been my life lately, and I am sorry I have been absent awhile.
PTSD therapy has been wonderful. I visit a nice slender woman nearly every week who softly pushes me in directions I desire to go but have little strength to travel with. Well… to rephrase… the strength exists under my weariness. It does in all of us and roars like a young lion into the funnel of change when “I cannot” becomes “I must.”
She has been encouraging me to write more. For a while, I felt I had simply run out of… words… which is ludicrous because I know perfectly well I am a vault of secrets and stories to tell. But it felt as though the lock on the vault did not belong to me and I did not know who had the key. In fact, nearly every facet of my world felt foreign, as if I had borrowed someone’s life.
I finally figured out, I have had the key all along, and it is still my vault, it does belong to me. But it feels different because I have changed inside.. my perspectives are adjusting as I adjust my life around PTSD and accept it.
I never did research about it, but PTSD may make some feel like the death of life as they knew it- or the death of who they were. If that is the case, I wonder if- on top of the residual scars and the stages of recovery- trauma survivors endure the same stages of mourning that those who suffered a mortal loss go through.
If that is true, then I am so grateful that I have come to acceptance. I have mourned the “death” of who I was for so long; truth be told, I clung to it fiercely in denial, not really understanding that it was not a death at all.. but a step closer to evolving as a woman.