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When I was younger I trained to compete in track and field events. I say that I trained because when it came to my time to run the hurdles I always chickened out. In my head there was a picture playing on repeat. Mid-jump my foot catches on the hurdle and I tumble to the ground unable to finish the race.
It is regrettable to say that I never gave myself the chance to realize a different ending.
Within the last 12 months I have seen some amazing things happen in my life. My dance with mental health will always ebb and flow, but now I can fully embrace just how strong and capable I truly am. The last year had its challenges standing tall like hurdles set for a race, but this time I firmly planted my feet on the ground ready to run. And I didn't just run. I flew over each marker without misstep. I made it past the finish line unscathed.
Here I am in a new season with my mental health, a proud veteran of a war nobody else could feel. The relief and the lightness of release into something new is truly a precious gift.
I joined a creative writing as healing group recently in pursuit of a space to explore my inner world. It is my intention to give myself the time to slooooow down. Writing used to be so therapeutic for me. Then one day I hit a wall where my writing dried up.
This was progress, though. This was real. For me, this was on the road to healing. Once a quiet and closed off girl filled with the overwhelm of unprocessed trauma and grief, after some very intentional time of healing, I had begun to open up in real life. That young girl learned how to communicate without writing, to use her voice instead. The worries began to melt away as she found herself alive in the world, with others and not alone.
So, coming to a quiet space, a blank page somehow felt like a step backward for a very long time. There is so much to express now and writing would only slow that down. Because instead I now feel a new need for community response, interaction, impact, synergy and nothing like those things can bloom sitting in a room, talking to yourself. So I stopped writing in pursuit of living.
As I start my new classes, my only worry or fear is that I find that there is nothing left in this abandoned well, that everything truly did dry up. But I doubt that will happen. I am sure there is at least a little trickling stream looking for escape.
And who knows, perhaps in eight weeks I will be freely writing once again. If not, at least I have the courage to run a new race. I look forward to the journey along the way as I start this a chapter in my life.
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