The Gift You Never Wanted

My body is bone tired, but it's a good, cleansing sort of exhaustion. I spent last weekend camping on a lush green, secluded swath of land with 1800 other women, playing, singing, soul searching, and shedding all normal. You see, my normal will not let me be so free of distraction, so uninhibited to put down my cynical guard or my bitter burdens. In this place, surrounded by so many strangers that felt like sisters, things were different.

I listened to a woman speak and tell her story, a story so different than mine, but in many ways the same. She spoke of how she was sexually abused by a neighbor as a child. Right before coming to camp she stopped to get breakfast and in front of her in line was the neighbor's adult grandson. There he was, a glaring attack on her peace as she was on her way to share her story with hundreds of women. I imagine she had a moment of pause, her heart suddenly flooded with old yet vivid emotions. Anyone familiar with trauma knows, this is how it works, certain places, people, words, even smells can trigger the feeling of your heart stopping, tripping over the next beat. These tripwires can send you spiraling into a bad place if they aren't kept in check. Something within her happened though, to where she was able to reorient her perspective, she was able to hold her ground and think, "I choose to see this as a gift." Instead of letting this be a reminder of her painful past and let it upset her purpose, she shifted her perspective  and noticed instead how far she had come in her healing journey. She slowed her breathing and thought, “I can stand in line with this man, I am healed and whole.” Instead of only seeing him as a reminder of her own trauma, she began to see him as human and wondered with sympathy if he was affected by his grandfathers actions or his reputation. This encounter would have once stopped her dead in her tracks sending her into full crisi mode, but she she ordered her breakfast, whispered a prayer for this man and left quietly. Wow.

I  have thought often about  these events that split our lives into two halves, right down the middle so that there is a 'before' and an 'after,' these are the gifts that no one wants. They are the things that we worry and fear, the 'what if's' that keep us up at night.  In the midst of them we are angered and confused and hurting and thinking "there is NO good that can possibly come from this and even if there is? well. I don't want it. I just want my life as I knew it before this happened."

I am pretty open about the fact that I am on anti depressants that make it near impossible for me to cry. The tears sometimes rise up but they just don't spill over, that feeling of sadness just sits at the top of my throat, locked in a tight jawed surrender. This past weekend I was finally able to sit and cry, free flowing streams of hurt and doubt. I let myself give into things I usually try to keep at bay, I let myself grieve for our hardships in our last several years, how disease has ravaged my body, my hands, carved my scars. I let go of the guilt that says, "Just be grateful you're alive!" but I also released the bitterness that says "why me? I don't want to be used in this way God, it has cost me too much!"

It has been a long road of picking up my gift and turning it over in my hands; many hours of reexamination, many tears shed on the pages of my journals, many anguished prayers prayed, many hard conversations with people who love me and undoubtedly there's more to come. My healing and how I use it in my world is a daily decision I must make. I also know that when I make the wrong decision, and I live in defeat or bitterness that I must forgive myself because my God is greater than my self loathing and he has already forgiven me. So I pick up where I left off and I stay the course.  I keep choosing the perspective that gives me life. I compare trauma to that person in your life who you have grown to love, despite their unbecoming qualities, despite all the flaws that infuriate you; you choose to see their loveliness, and know that when you add up all their attributes, good, bad and ugly, they equal one amazing, valuable entity.  And that, friends, is the miracle of LOVE.

To say its not an overnight process would be an understatement. I often talk about how the bitterness I felt in my soul came much later, at first I was just happy to be alive. Now, two years later as I'm still dealing with the aftermath I see not only the miracle of being alive, but the miracle of being able to overcome and thrive. I'm able to see and appreciate more clearly the gifts that I never wanted. I think about my brothers and sisters who are a part of the misfit band of the walking wounded whether they want to be or not. I marvel at their hopeful outlooks and how they have been transformed by tragedy. I see how we're given the ability to empathize on a different level, to know that we all have scars and brokenness and never to judge or gawk at the ones who have to wear them like a badge everyday. To value each person regardless of their appearance as a miracle To get to be that diversity, that person that makes others stop and question their view of the world. To learn to accept the limits and finite status of humanity but still not let it squelch the hope or creativity or resourcefulness that lives in us. The clarity to know what really matters...these gifts have all been so costly, and perhaps you don't have go through trauma to receive them, but I did.

After this past weekend, I am more than ever committed to healing, for myself and for others. I am determined to share these gifts that I so begrudgingly received in hopes that it might make someone else's load a little lighter. What have you been through that you can turn around and offer hope to others with? Is there some part of your story you still need to work through in order to be able to do this? I hope this encourages you to dig a little deeper into those areas and share your gifts with those in your circle of influence.


Thanks for being here today!

Jenna

Related :

find out more about Woman Camp

read my story here: Day 73 and Counting and here The Stories We Don't Tell