Healing is not linear.

I wrote that sentence years ago.

This weekend, I learned it again.

I was at a beach townhouse celebrating two friends’ birthdays when I was triggered. 

I haven’t slept close to a man- remotely- in 6 years. Lying awake in bed the first night, I watched my sister sleep soundly beside me, softly snoring. I lay next to her, reliving a scene from a decade earlier. I was not there- ripped from my peaceful, serene timeline into a dark, painful memory from my sunken room.  

Lying awake, curled up on my side, I felt everything. Saw everything, heard everything from that night. My breath steadied me, but my body returned to another time as my memories spilled into the present. Sleep took me; abrupt and short. Woke to a panic and walked to the restroom. Looking at myself in the mirrors, the thoughts came rushing in – 

“You are the problem.”
“Don’t bother anyone.”
“Go numb again.”
“You should have known better.”

The thing about triggers is that they’re like landmines buried beneath the present. You rarely know where they are until you step on one.

My first instinct was to leave. Make an excuse in the morning. Drive home.

Then another thought surfaced.

I am safe.

My mind knew.                                                                                                                        

My heart knew.

My body just hadn’t caught up yet.

So, I (not knowing I needed to reflect and to release) took some time. The next day after work, I got in my car and drove. No clear destination in mind. I ended up at the pier. I put on my headphones, walked around a little. I found a bench overlooking the beach; sat down, pulled out my journal, and reflected. And finally, bawled. As the sun beat down on me, the wind softly swaying the tall grass. The waves rolling in on the beach. I phoned a friend; in venting to her, I realized my fear of being misunderstood and my patterns of behavior before- withdrawing, shrinking, running away, fleeing. She asked, “So, what are you going to do now?” I simply responded, “I don’t know.” 

Now, reflecting back, I see it a bit differently. In the moment, I was annoyed and feared I would always be broken, but now, I see that I felt safe enough to release. In my mind, in my heart, in my spirit, in my body. It was hard. It was painful. But I see now what came up was ready to be released. It was just asking me to be me through it all. 

Interestingly, before the trip, my body ached. My hips barked and protested against movement. I tried to push through; I went for a walk, which ended up hurting me more. I stretched and held the position, which relieved some pain. It’s funny how the body often knows before the mind does. Historically, I would push through and get frustrated in a flare-up. For me, when pain arises, it asks me to slow down and pay attention.

Driving down, I felt a little off. After the trigger and the reflection, I felt lighter. I even helped the other girls release the tension in their hips, and I showed some of them how to strengthen. If I had stayed in the timeline I was pulled into, I would have missed these moments of connection and healing. I have always said, “hurt people hurt people; healing people heal people.” 

Looking back, I don’t think this weekend was a setback. 

I think it was an invitation.

I had spent years believing healing meant never being triggered again. Now I wonder if healing is something quieter. Maybe healing isn’t the absence of pain. Maybe healing is recognizing that, this time, I stayed.

I breathed. I cried. I reached for someone instead of running. I came back to myself.

Perhaps I wasn’t breaking.

Perhaps, for the first time in years, I was simply safe enough to release.

11:11

More on returning to self: The Light-Filled Room · The CLEAN Model