Trigger Warning
.jpg)
(Photo Credit: @bodyandearth, Erin Kress)
These scars on my legs
Where I remember
Your hands
Once lingered
How they felt so heavy
And intrusive
I dug into my thighs
With shards of glass
Hoping to cut
You away
-Sexual Assault
When I write poetry or create things I am always going into the project as a beginner. I am always taking a leap into the unknown. And I am always somehow changed by the process. I am never the same person at the end of a creative journey. I write a lot of poems about mysticism and talk about nature, healing, and embodiment. But I haven't really ever written how each of these paths looks to me and how they evolve overtime. I don't often share the things I write that feel utterly human and vulnerable and at times wretched, even though these tender parts of me are relatable, beautiful and worthy of attention too.
There's so much I wish I could say here. About what these words mean to me. About why I wrote them. And how I'm advocating for all survivors everywhere, not just of assualt, but of eating disorders, self-harm, addiction, illness, war, racial violence, [insert anything here]. I also wish I could speak to the power of art (visual, writing, dance, etc.) as a vehicle for healing. Where the creative process is about learning who we are and what we're capable of, not just pumping out content. Maybe in another post.
There will come a day when my full story will be told, but for now, what's moving in me is the reminder that healing is a process. It is a deeply transformative journey that takes incredible courage and resiliency and is forever ongoing. I still have to work through things I haven't thought about in years, things it seemed I'd overcome already. As many times as I forget, I always find myself back on the same road I started on. There is no "already," there's a single spiraling journey and when I'm walking it well, I welcome the whole damn thinh. There's no freedom from something, only freedom to be with it all: all the beliefs I've adopted as the result of a traumatic event, the muscle memories/tissue issues/felt sense/body release, the psychological and emotional integration.
This poem is a glimpse into my story. Of childhood sexual assault, PTSD, cutting, eating disorders and addiction. It's a story of moving through deeply ingrained challenges and finding compassion for symptoms that sometimes, even to this day, make functioning seem impossible. This poem though, is just a small sliver of my entire story, one that is still revealing itself, unraveling a little more each moment. It is filled with pain and suffering, but also with great beauty. Some days I feel paralyzed. Some days my progress is vast and unshakable. Some days I find peace knowing it doesn't really matter how far I've come or how far I think I have left to go when I simply get curious about what's happening for me right now... whether it's crippling fear, or overwhelming love.
I am inspired every day by the survivors I see all around me, I find strength in their stories (and art) and feel less isolated when I accept the invitation to stand in my power too. I am humbled time and time again by my own journey and I am so thankful when I am able to fully own it. This is my story. I am human, I am fragile and fierce and fighting my way to freedom.
And I am enough.