I forgive myself for buying into the notion that I am… lazy. I hate that word. Lazy. There is so much shame attached to it. It is ugly. It doesn’t feel good. Years ago I gave up the word “fat.” I don’t use it any more. Ever. Only in terms of “I am cutting the fat off this meat” kind of thing. Fat. I don’t like that word. There are so many negative connotations to it. So I stopped using it. I have decided to do the same thing with “lazy.” Gone. Its out of here! No more!
Because I am not lazy. I work long and I work hard. And it is ok that my work does not look the same as yours. I also take time to care for myself. I unwind. I take naps. I spend hours NOT multitasking. I play. And maybe you don’t take time to do those things and that is okay. We don’t need to be the same. But that does not mean I am lazy.
And AND Guess what else??!! You are not lazy either!
“Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion.” –Steel Magnolias
Some moments my healing comes through tears and others through my laughter. Some moments my healing comes through cursing. Healing is hardly ever pretty. Healing is messy and often unpredictable. But healing is also divine. And in its own way, a precious miracle. Heavenly Healing provides restoration and a renewal of the heart, a lifting of the soul. Heavenly healing is a gift through the grace of God and a fruit of the Atonement of Christ. I cannot tell you how long your healing will take or what it will look like. What I can tell you is that it can happen. Healing happens. Healing is real because Christ is real. Because He lives. And not only does He live but He loves. The love of Christ is big. It is perfect and perfecting. Christ’s love offers restoration, redemption and renewal to the wounded soul.
Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about the things that matter. -Martin Luther King, Jr.
Halloween a year ago. My Guy on a Buffalo and I were still together. I never felt more beautiful than when we were together. Even with no make-up and messy hair and chapped lips.
Truth telling is hard. Oh so hard. I feel such a pull to share my experiences with My Guy on a Buffalo but at the same time I do not want to throw him under the bus. I love this man. He is a good man. His behavior towards me was abusive. I believe in using the correct terms. There is power in them. There is freedom. There is truth. But I hate to think of or refer to My Guy on a Buffalo as my “abuser.” Correct term. Doesn’t sit well. Why? Because that is not who. he. is. “Abuser” is not CORE Guy on a Buffalo. I do not want to label him as that. That is not who he is and he can be helped, healed. He can change.
I have this fear. My fear is that if I tell the truth, if I share my experiences (which I feel so pulled to do) that one day he might read them. That it will cause him shame that he might not escape from. That he will not feel worthy of healing or goodness. And he is worthy! Of healing, restoration, redemption! Being honest here: that it might impede any future relationship we might have together.
I recently wrote a POST about listening to those who share stories of abuse because it can save a life. But the abused are not the only ones worthy of being saved. The “abusers” are too. Granted, I am sure there are people out there who are just mean. But I am gonna go out on a limb and also say that most abusers abuse because of addiction or mental illness. We must help them too (Doesn’t mean we should stay in a bad/unsafe situation EVER). We cannot force any one to change, to seek help or be saved. But we can be aware. We can educate ourselves with knowledge and resources. We can also listen… to them.
In the pit of my stomach, in the center of my heart. In every thought in my mind. It makes my brain come alive.
You know that feeling. It courses all through your body.
Triggered. A mix of scary, excitement, feeling.
A reminder of loss. Reliving the hurt. All the things he said. But also all the good. There is still hope inside of me.
It is as if I am slowly dying.
Everyone tells me it gets better. But in moments like these there is no better. Only love with no place to go. Except to the pit of my stomach, to the center of my heart. To every thought in my mind making my brain come alive.
I will probably be out of commission for a few days. Breathing. Taking my time. Grieving. Passing through every stage. Again.
This is my favorite necklace. My mom bought it for me when we were in Park City this past April. I always think how My guy on a buffalo could probably tell me what kind of rock it is,