Healing sucks. Learning a new way to live and think and feel sucks. Believe me, I know. Sometimes the idea of deep diving into our own psyche to pitch out the water logged and broke seems like an impossible task. Pulling us down in sheer exhaustion of what we've endured and yet have to clear out. It sucks.
What if I told you it was worth it? Walking through to the other side of things, bloodied and bruised from the war inside ourselves we get to win each day. Walking into the light of day, standing heart to heart with the people who love us unconditionally, standing heart to heart with those who have been there, standing heart to heart with our-self, is the most single magical moment on this planet. To have picked up our pieces, dusted them off, and stitched/glued/cemented/stuck back together into the mosaic we choose.
For this reminder, I wrote a poem to myself and inner parts dedicated to this understanding and work. A promise to keep trudging forward regardless of how hard it gets.
And Yet We Build
I know the pain inside can be overwhelming.
It tosses and tumbles
with its jagged edged stones,
sharp enough to pierce the light we try to foster.
Stones plunking into our seas,
conjuring swelled waves to batter our balance,
swaying to and fro on tipped toes.
I know the pain inside can be disorienting.
Memories bully their way into consciousness,
sensory overload scratching at
They throw and pitch beneath our feet,
twirling in a cacophony of stimulus
that can bring us to our knees.
And yet we build.
Each new insight an inlaid step
upon which we can sit.
Camped around our fire,
warming our hearts
through the thick of the night.
The screeching outside the boundaries
of our light,
muffled by the beat of the blood
through our veins.
Hanging on by each breath,
Let us learn together
the art of weaving together
the tapestry of
by Peyton Cram