Brave

When I share deeply about my healing journey around abuse and trauma, I've had a lot of people respond

"You're so brave!"

But I don't feel brave.

Maybe they are just being encouraging. Maybe they see something I don't. I know for sure that it comes from a loving and compassionate place, and I appreciate that.

Yet

On my good days, I feel... neutral. Kind of like that Lion King quote...

(Mufasa is the man, btw. Or, I guess, the lion.)

Anyway -- I'm only "brave" because I feel like I have to be.

Statistically speaking, those of us who have been abused and traumatized previously are at the most at risk for further abuse and trauma. I don't want to be a statistic. I don't want to spend the rest of my life with people who use me, abuse me, and discard me when they are done. Or, only slightly better, defending myself from those people by being alone forever.

Which means on my bad days, I'm pursuing healing out of the fear that if I don't, I'll never be safe or healthy or truly loved.

Which doesn't seem brave to me. It seems more... hmm, I think the word I'm looking for is "fucked up". On so many levels.

It's fucked up because it shouldn't be my responsibility to prevent people who say they love me from abusing me.

It's fucked up because there is some implication that if I can heal to the point where I can prevent my own abuse, then my abuse (or at least the abuse I've encountered since adulthood) is somehow my fault for not having reached that level of healing yet. (I know, I know. It's never the victim's fault. I have that on repeat in my head every day, and I haven't figured out how to reconcile these things yet. This internal struggle will likely be the topic of a separate blog.)

It's fucked up because I am running away from further abuse and trauma instead of towards something positive.

It's fucked up because everyone should have the right to feel safe without the prerequisite of decades of therapy and personal growth work. No one should have to worry about being abused, especially people who've already been hurt.

It's fucked up because my physical health has taken an incredible toll due to the emotional stress and damage. I feel so much pressure to get to a healthy place emotionally or my physical health will prevent me from doing what I need to do to take care of my basic needs (i.e. work) much less live the full and rich life that I want for myself. So again, coming from fear.

It's fucked up because it's yet another manifestation of the imperialist capitalist white-supremacist patriarchy, because I know that I better get my shit together because "healing" will not make me a productive and worthy member of society and it's my fault anyway for being a frail woman (and before, a frightened girl-child) so I should apologize for taking up too much space with all my damage and get back to taking care of the men who abuse me because it could have been so much worse and don't I understand what they have been through?!

But these things only chase each other around in my head on my bad days.

I have good days
Where I see where I'm headed
Where I can appreciate that the silver linings of having my health tank -
     I am forced to live in deep accordance with my values
     I am forced to live in a way that will (eventually) facilitate a long and healthy life

I have good days
Where the lessons from the journey feel useful
Where the journey itself feels meaningful

The light is still returning
A few minutes at a time

But I still can't own the word "brave." Maybe someday I will see it clearly in hindsight, but not yet.