This life has taught me
To tow the line quiet
Surrendering into time,
Because incidents rewind
With a mind of their own.
And so sturdy, we row the
Rapid patterns of the
We stay in tune with each
Separate quest. Observance.
Steady. Doing the work
That leans against the
Thick breath of the herd.
We are divergent, ominous,
Everything formed in us,
Powered by a self love so
Infinite that it becomes a
Hurricane of pounding rain.
Pay the penance. Confess
The wicked deeds, on your
Knees, in Biblical instruction.
Make a list, to remind you
Of your confession. This is
Your way. You must ask
For forgiveness. It is not
For us to be freely giving.
Reckoning has many faces,
Unexpected veils and illusions
That become intrusions
Appearing in most leaving
Unprepared affected, the
Egoist off kilter, inside the
Self righteous fodder of an
Imaginary, sadistic Father.
Fear the fray that is sewn
Back together, for it is able
To bear the weight of many
Lives. It turns swiftly, gaining
Strength and paving ways.
When this thing is unleashed
Like water slathered on polished
Floors it is impossible to cross,
Breaking bones in the falls, we
Will shatter lies like falling logs,
Because we are The Walk,
In our own Body, always on
The Move, distantly watching you.
With un-shattered minds
We will fully rewind time.
As I have lived my own survivorship and spent the last few years deeply connecting with trauma survivors, I see three distinct phases of the journey.
Thriver (and for some, Advocacy/Warriorship)
I think one of the most difficult breaks in the healing process is moving from the victim to survivor state. The victim state of mind sees the downfall with everything in life. Solutions aren’t on their minds, they can only see everything bad in their world. Any solution offered, the victim stage will say they’ve already tried it or give a reason why it won’t work.
When I was in the victim stage, I recall having a fear that if I healed, I would have nothing to spawn my creativity. I was so incredibly wrong. As I have healed I have created so much more and so many amazing things. The fear was a farce.
The Survivor stage includes a mindset of knowing we have survived and believing we can still survive. Survivor stage is a small exhale and sometimes the longest stage as we are learning strengthening and practicing wellness and self love. In the survivor stage we face our anger, fear, hurt and deep pains. This stage is a boundary setting stage and a period of strengthening our minds. In the survivor stage we are starting to see the world around us as a place of possibility. We are embracing our ability to heal and determined to do so.
The step from survivor to Thriver is a smaller one. When we reach the state of thriving we have come into a place where we have embraced that our past is actually the past and we don’t have to live there now. In the Thriver stage we don’t see obstacles, but instead, opportunity. As Thrivers we take our horrible situations and tend to barrel through them because we realize that all things do pass. We tend to write out and create through our moments of pain instead of projecting them on others or drowning in them. We have no issues enacting our boundaries and don’t care who gets mad about it, as we understand our right to put ourselves first.
In Thriver stage we are empowered to know that healing doesn’t mean we don’t still have impairments from our abuse, but that we can absolutely get through it. We don’t have to stay in it. As Thrivers we embrace that our thoughts will set a course for our days and we learn that positive perspectives and energy will change and often make rectifying problems much easier when our thoughts are rooted in solutions, acceptance and great possibilities. We accept moments and people as they are. We aren’t as easily offended. We learn to be and let be. We fight for things that matter and let inconsequential situations fall by the wayside.
For those in differing stages of healing, please know that it can take years to get through these processes. Please be patient with yourself. When you take the step out of victimhood into survivorship, congratulate yourself!! That is a MASSIVE step!
I used the processes that I introduced in my interactive journal “Becoming Gratitude”, to move from feeling like a victim, to feeling the success of changing my world view and the perspective of my own existence and surroundings. It absolutely re-wired my brain for the better, in just a short five minutes a day.
You can check out the journal here:
Another amazing book that, if the writing processes in it are followed, will help a survivor really begin to embrace their emotion freedom is “PTSD: Time To Heal.” When I found this book I was ecstatic. It confirmed to me that all the handwriting processes I had done were absolutely on point. Handwriting our pain is not only crucial, but the absolute best process to follow, as the brain must slow down to process through our pen. This book gets into the physiology of why handwriting trauma is a crucial part of the healing journey. You do NOT have to be a prolific writer or speller to do this work. You just have to actually DO the tasks!
You can check out this book here:
Processing trauma isn’t easy. Neither is holding it inside. To be afraid of healing is akin to willingly drowning. Two major components exist in the survivor stage.
1. Being willing to do the work, WANTING to do it and reveling in moving towards being a Thriver.
2. Accepting and creating solutions and boundaries.
I believe every victim can become a Thriver. It is simply a matter of choosing to do the work that brings us there. I was sick of being in pain all of the time and tired of only seeing the negatives in my life. I grasped onto gratitude like a lifeline, and it absolutely changed my world view in just a few short weeks.
I hope you will give yourself the gift of healing. You deserve it. You CAN do the work, and you will be so much stronger for your fight and your life! Being a Thriver has empowered me in so many ways. I believe in you.
There are ghosts in my view. I am traveling hallways. We are coming back for you. Your breath quickens as you wait. Will your heart give in to the ache; the secrets you hold? They rot your insides, you know.
We are your shadow self.
Every deed, word, blow and theft of innocence lurks inside the remnants of your biological cells. You never considered that hell would come from those you desecrated.
When we come, we are a pack without a leader.
We have no need to follow, holding hands side by side, we yell, “Red Rover, Red Rover, come on over!”, and we smile. You taught us to rip at each other’s wrists, remember? Danger as an entertainer. That was your pleasure.
There were the games we played in secret, away from your judging eyes, sneaking moments with quiet giggles. We reserved our spirits from your shattering, scattering into life, struggling through its mores as we held ourselves in fetal positions to survive. Now, we rise.
We have gathered the ashes of our pasts, reconstructed our wings, and we are prepared to fly.
We are the children of your terror. We are the outcasts and sinners, scar bearers and wayward waifs. We are the tattooed tyrants, birthed from your horror, walking our own paths against your wrath. We color our hair bright. We carry ourselves Light. We know each step with precision as we enter this fight.
We are not mercy. We are strength. We are not bitterness. We are valiance.
We are turning your worlds inside out, releasing the doubt you preach from pulpits and podiums and classrooms to children and vulnerable humans. We are Dragons, gathering in the night.
We have been watching you a very long time. You see, you taught us well, but you failed to keep the tide from turning. Now we take everything you forced us to absorb, the intel and verbal hell, battered bones and dissociated minds, childhoods left behind, never to be relived, and create a mighty hurricane, gathering speed every time another survivor speaks their abuser’s name.
We release shame. It is not ours. It belongs to you. Your time to be burdened with your own deeds is long overdue.
I am a lurker in the darkness, mystic of the floated corners where the view is clear up here. I see the past and futures merging. I see the sadness and the pain purging. I feel every heart hurting, from the wicked to the wounded and my eyes can only focus on the cries of the affected, injected by decades of apathetic sociopathy using human flesh in the deadliest fashions.
For those who have a passion for hurting others, it is you I watch, even those who cloak themselves in the mask of mirrored goodness. We are keenly keeping our eyes focused. We are passed hoping. We are ready for war. Are you? How fast will your knees buckle when the first blows come? How long before your run?
No more will we be ruled, organized or contained. No more will we remain silent or compliant.
Associations and organizations meant to capitalize on those who’ve almost died inside and outside are crumbling at their feet. Too long you have preyed on the weak. Your time has come to an end, and no matter how much you pretend, keeping an illusion of control, you are quickly slipping into a sinkhole.
Even as your wrinkled fingers hold the purse strings, we sing.
Even as you watch us still, spinning tales of the ones who tell truths on you, we laugh as your ropes fray. It is your day. Your reckoning has arrived. We have been released from the hive, a swarm, marching with precision. Welcome to your new religion.
One must wonder about the abusive adult whose mind is so oblivious it cannot rationalize, that what you forced us to internalize would return to watch you burn. Yet, into the flames you will run, because the thought of combusting will feel less painful than the torture we will enact. Every item accounted for. Every brick will be removed. Each stone you drove home to build your wall will fall, and in the end what will be left, are more humans, free from your invisible chains, living in happiness.
For now, you shake beneath the hands of a mighty earthquake. In this surge, graves are unearthed and after years of holding still, we now run swiftly, legs strong, to destroy the villainous ones.
You will relax, forget to watch your back, and we will attack, because you deserve to be fought. You deserve to be tested with unrest.
Welcome to the Resurrection.
In battle, small platoons take hold positions. Their leaders converse and strategize. It is neither a battle they plan to fight nor a war they wish to start. It will be a complete conquering, and this must be a smooth sweep.
Such things are not decided upon quickly. Every angle is inspected thoroughly and repeatedly. This takes skill and strategy. The aim is to hold awareness of the whole. Forward movement of this kind must be slow.
The building of momentum need be quiet and reserved in a space of occasional observation. Each step should be focused on, momentarily pushing others aside until their turn arrives. This the weaving of human life.
There are targets to decide. Which ones hide and which ones are irrelevant? In this battle the score is the core. Straight in. No diversion. Implosion. Precise decision.
Wait and wonder is a skill that works in sync with timing. When the unknown is contained, let it view itself free. Then enact the deeds piece by piece, strategically.
The way of the warrior sees all. It holds integrity and passion. It surveys the landscape quietly, momentarily, while dancing still in movement. Invisible, the warrior slides into position, hidden and becomes the all of what is to come. They each arrive alone, gathering to become the storm.
Where do I go when I float?
Away from the frayed tentacles
Of memories and ligaments,
Strained from twisting, turning,
Child, they said, this hurts me
More than it hurts you. No.
I go back to moments and sit,
Quiet inside the hopelessness it’s
Good to remember this; to never forget
Lest I leave behind the reasons why
I fight until my brows ache.
You got lucky if you didn’t get raped.
It takes the soul away; flight, it
Wanders in dark nights and mires,
Like quicksand, it is the hand of
Every time we were violated
Again and again and again.
Rock with the sadness, my loves.
Hold it bravely in your tender arms,
Like a baby you can re-love the child;
The defiled despair living there
In the core that is shattered and torn.
Fly with the visions, sweet thrivers,
Take back your mind. Release the ghosts.
You are not that anymore; not the
Forgotten child in the chains
Of monsters and madness. No.
You face yourself in the mirror;
Command the past and swaddle
It into the depth of your soft heart.
You are a different kind
Of damaged, chaotic mind
Confused you use words
As projection swords and
I see the hurt behind the eyes
The reflection as your soul dies
Lie by lie by lie; the ones you
Tell yourself are true so you
Have a good enough excuse
To dart the arrows with no regard
Of the blood flown from hearts
Torn apart by your anger and
My mind says danger. Danger.
There is pain too deep to touch,
A hole that one could fall through
To end up in a deep abyss
Of your untethered loneliness.
Such a sunflower shouldn’t die
Drowning inside an inability to cry,
You sip illusion, a savory wine;
Your mirror, a self-made design.
Everything that makes you wince
Tells you what needs love’s attention
As you ignore. Ignore. Ignore;
The parts of you so bruised and sore.
I can only sit and observe,
The winding streets of your hurt
Hovering above the purity
Stolen from your childhood
An inability to develop so you
Scrambled and scratched your
Way through life; numb the wounds
With bottles of booze, laugh away
The moments draining your happy,
Regret and listing what you’re lacking.
I feel slightly stoic and disinterested,
An odd reaction, to not feel sorry
For the churning of your own hurting.
When light floats inside your air
You call the darkness; safer there?
No more minutes can pass me by.
I’m swiftly running out of time; must
Focus forward; head held high
Silently take the podium and speak.
Empowered woman. Empowered me.