Not every wound leaves a mark. In fact, in my experiences, the most devastating wounds are nonphysical and therefore commonly overlooked as well…

Even by the victims.

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The First Step: Discovery

Once you know about a problem, you can fix it. But what about the problems you don’t know you have? How do you fix those?

As a survivor, this is one of the most fascinating aspects of trauma for me. I was groomed as a young child by a sick adult, which created systemic processes within my basic life functions that are a disservice to my most healthful self.

@UMANTSIVA

That’s why, as a young girl, urinating into my dirty laundry hamper so that I didn’t have to leave my bedroom to walk the 2 feet to the bathroom (that was literally the next door down from my bedroom in the hall) made complete sense until it was challenged. Once my exsatrabated mother found out what was going on though, I was filled with shame and confusion. To this day, I have no idea how I justified not leaving my room to pee but I don’t even remember questioning it at the time.

Not as Simple as Remembering

I imagine it’s the same reason I was asked as a young girl why I had bladder control issues by my counselor while I was at camp. I was pressed for information about possible abuse, but I had none to offer. Just more shame and confusion…

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The same sinking feeling of condemnation that would come over my whole body when my dad’s hands would brush across my skin, even through my clothes, especially at church. The same reason I would cry out “what the f^ck is wrong with me?!” through sobs of self-loathing, terror and depression as a young adult haunted by the blackness that seemed to engulf my childhood memories at every turn. The same reason I justified trying to kill myself when I was 10 years old, and why cutting myself in high school felt so good…

Most of my life I have been acting out a script, written by my trauma.

The Truth Shall Set You Free

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I was so caught up in running from myself that I would have never stopped… If all the air hadn’t been knocked out of me by reality that is.

One of my sisters started to remember the abuse, and everything began to unravel. All of a sudden, the questions I had been asked since childhood were getting louder and louder in my head… the feelings of disgust and shame… the extreme self-loathing that lead to mutilation and recklessness…

It felt like I was being swallowed whole by my own existence… yet, I also didn’t understand how someone could feel so lost within themselves. For the first time, I began to realize large portions of my life were gone.

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I didn’t have full memories of my early years at all. Not bad memories or trauma, but also what would be considered good memories were also gone or barely hanging on. I discovered that I couldn’t even see my mom in the memories I had of her until I was about 11 – what fills the space she should occupy prior to that? The blackness.

Self-Discovery of Condemnation

Why wouldn’t I think that shadows enveloping and consuming my memories isn’t normal when I have experiences of this happening throughout my whole life? I couldn’t even see the shadows until I realized that I had memories of my mom before I was 11, but I couldn’t see her. The early memories of my mother are dominated by the blackness…

Probing deeper, I find that the blackness has texture and feeling – it is my horror, my shame, my condemnation… It feels like suffocating, falling, drowning, exploding and being snuffed out, all at once. It is itself a memory…

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It has taken years of conscious work, ceremony, regression, meditation and healing, but I now know the source of the blackness that consumed my young mind. It was a creation of my intuitive sensitivity that served me as a young girl and blocked out the experiences I had that my soul couldn’t justify… and due to the extremely early timing of trauma in my life, it even predates my abilities to make memories in ways I don’t entirely understand.

The blackness is a result of my father’s domination in my young life. The blackness is my rejection of his abuse so entirely that my mind refused to make meaning of it… and in doing so, I created a monster instead.

The blackness is what returned to me when my sister was being abused, while I lay in a bed in the same room curled up as tight as possible in the fetal position. The blackness consumed feelings of confused and fearful jealousy in that terrified little girl… and it brought with it the overwhelming knowing that a crime was being committed, despite having nothing else to know because her mind became so completely abysmal…

The blackness takes over and leaves the little girl to play, in her broken dream house of all consuming blackness… and now that I know, all of my anger and disgust melts away.

Steps 2 – Infinity: Acceptance and Love

Brought through the trauma to meet that terrified little girl, I am overcome with love and compassion for her. I am not angry that she couldn’t stand up to her dad, I understand completely now that she didn’t even know what was happening to her, let alone how to stop it…

Even the blackness feels different now. The monster I had blamed for stealing so much of my life wasn’t in fact to blame at all. The blackness was never my father or his crimes somehow poisoning me, no – the blackness was always mine! My strength, my innocence, my love and it’s unending hope for my father to be what he is not – that’s the blackness…

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Yes, it became an overwhelming mass of density that desperately needed my attention, but now I know I was never running from the blackness – I was running from what the blackness protected me from.

Tracing My Traumas Today

I no longer suffer from bladder control issues, I am relatively well-adjusted and I can even talk about my father these days without having an emotional response. It has taken a lot of hard work to get where I am, but I’m no where near done learning about my own past either.

Just before writing, I was pondering some of the other triggers, conditioning and grooming I am still mired in… My father’s abuse extended beyond the trauma that introduced the blackness, but it was all certainly compounded by everything else.

I have been invited by the loving Divine to rest, relax, heal and meditate… yet, I’m preoccupying myself with thoughts of the “right way” to do these things instead of embracing this commission gratefully. I know that this is another symptom of being raised by a man who’s favor I had to earn…

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My mind is fraught with anxieties… that aren’t mine. My father like to say that we “shouldn’t be ruled by fear” but then built his family home on top of a mountain so he could isolate his kids from society – guess what stuck with us? Yep. I still have tendencies towards fatalistic paranoia too…

Claiming My Victories… Again and Again…

My battles aren’t simply won. My battles aren’t those in which I get to obliterate the enemy… My battles are within myself.

I have to be kind, even when every shread of my past is calling out for my merciless condemnation. I have to be patient, even when the blackness remains impenetrable. I have to be the unrestricted, unconditional love that I was taught I had to earn, deserve and beg for…

These are the ways in which I am winning – all the ways I refuse to give up.

It’s not easy. It’s not fair. It doesn’t feel good and it tears apart my whole heart daily… But this is my battle cry: “I am worth my redemption! I am a child of the Divine! I will prosper in my imperfections, never restricted by that which I can achieve by myself – my strength is in my acceptance – my salvation is in Grace, Truth and Love!”

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My you all find your way to healing as well! Blessed Be my Beloveds.