I always intend for these posts to be of value to the person who finds themselves drawn to them. Most often my target audience, as in the people that I envision when I sit down to write, are women. More specific than that, they are women who are sexual abuse and incest survivors. I want them to find me and glean anything from my writing to help them make sense of the swirling crazy world that they are probably living in.
I’m not sure that my writing is fit for the general masses and I’m fairly certain that it fails to grab the attention of the mainstream. But I’m still going to put it out there. I know in my heart there are those so lost and frightened by the trauma of their past that I pray they find these writings along with other sources of help they need.
I want to share with them that transitioning from day to night is the toughest for me. As the day fades into dusk, panic sets in. It is the time that I have to hold on extra tight not to lose myself as I prepare for the dark to come. Night is when the unconscious comes out to play and dances around with all those memories. Night is also the time when, agitated and angry, she cracks me open and swallows me whole. Speaking in symbols and metaphors, she often stays present in my mind long after I have woken up and started my day. The line blurs between the two worlds until I feel as if I’m straddling two dimensions at once.
This has to be how many survivors feel. We’ve been dissected into so many parts and are so out of touch with our bodies that we float around with wispy images from our dreams never quite having our feet touch the ground. Its up to us to assemble the pieces and break the cryptic code that will set us free. Our disassociated parts try to integrate through any means it can find and often use the unconscious as its playground. I’m sure its why many of us are drawn to the arts and nature as one means of healing. Whether its through music or gardening, it is there that we make a connection that grounds us, helps us connect the fragmented pieces.
Throughout this journey, I have come across many tools and resources to heal. I want the survivors to know even though we occupy an odd, scratched out corner of the everyday world, feeling invisible and vulnerable, there is always hope. With the darkness comes a rare opportunity to go inside until we understand and embrace our true selves. It is then that we can emerge an entirely new and whole being.
So for this moment, I sit with the images from the dreams of last night. Warm images of my mother and my beloved owl Athena are present as I simultaneously recall the struggle through a maze of darkened streets, looking for a way out of something that I’m still not sure of. The same theme presents itself again. It tugs and nudges me to continue to unravel the story which may be repeated until I fully grasp the meaning. I force myself to be patient and loving with the process and hope that others are doing the same for themselves.