Mine

I discovered something. I discovered that I know what I’m doing. Not always and not even in a definable way but I know what I’m doing. I want to scream it. Let me do this… let me do this my way. Only I know my wounds. Only I know my pain. Only I can guide the healing process.

I put my foot down. I said “no, I’m not doing this,” to my therapist no less. The next day the skies opened, I could breathe. I was disoriented… lost, spinning with the oxygen that entered my lungs. I didn’t think much, except about Damon. I didn’t try to figure out where the sudden space had come from. I let myself brush against some of his memories. They didn’t sear through my soul. They hurt… immeasurably more than I can describe but I could endure it, for short spurts.

Today is different. I hurt more but air still comes when I drag it into my lungs. I see the world today. I look around blinking, seeing beauty. It’s shocking. I revel in the crispness, the normal everyday sounds that fill the air. It feels good to see. My mind started to pull itself out of the shock of colors, sounds and smells and it occurred to me that this space, this light came with me stopping the world spinning and saying “no” and meaning it, with me trusting myself enough to determine that something wasn’t working and set my sights on reshaping it so that it would. I took back some semblance of control and realized that I know what I’m doing.

I think this is universal. I think each of us know what we’re doing. I’ve long loathed the word “should.” It raises my ire like few utterances can. No one should. I HATE should. I think deep down you know what your soul needs. You know what will heal, help or propel you but we drown ourselves in ‘shoulds’ and it seems we are so very unwilling to give each other space to stumble through the dark. We often insist on shining an uninvited searchlight into the eyes of one who will only be blinded by the intrusion.

I’ve said this before but now I see it. I see it so clearly. Only I can determine when or if I’m ready. To be pushed, or to push myself into doing something, experiencing something or confronting something when my heart isn’t ready is damaging and perhaps deadly. Damon is mine. My grief is mine. My PTSD is mine. My memories are mine. I’ll go there when I’m ready, on my own terms.

It feels good to trust myself again, if only a little bit. I’m just going to keep breathing for as long as the air comes and we’ll go from there.