Journal entry — January 2021
I’m standing on the edge of a cliff. There are tiny cracks all around me. I am terrified to move, but something calls to me… if I jump will it end the pain?
My beloved husband stands several feet away in a place of safety. He stares at me blankly, no recognition, no emotion.
He looks away. He never looks at me again. Instead, he begins to empty cups of water onto the brittle ground. The water seeps into the cracks. I am trapped on the precarious edge, intensely alone while surrounded by “loved-ones”.
I call out to my beloved, or to anyone else who might be listening. My beloved ignores me and begins dumping buckets of water on the ground. I look around desperately and suddenly realize that my mother and two of my brothers are handing buckets of water to my beloved. The rest of my family stands to the side, looking the other way. They all pretend not to hear me. I am invisible to them. They continue their lives as if nothing is amiss.
The water in the cracks causes the cliff edge to start slipping. I try to hold on to firm ground, but there isn’t any in reach. As I start falling. I look up see to my meditation teacher, my beloved’s siblings and several of our friends joining the bucket brigade. My meditation group, my lawyer, my first psychiatrist and all of my beloved’s “friends” look the other way.
The cliff collapses. I try to spread my wings but am reminded that I can’t fly. It’s not a freefall. I tumble into the abyss along with rocks and roots, bruised and battered on the way down.
I land, bloody and broken. I am still, but my mind is racing. What the hell happened?
Finally, I open my eyes.
I am hurting, but I find myself in a field of beautiful flowers; my daughter, my therapist, my true friends, my doctor, my new psychiatrist, my neighbors and the lovely souls at RISE are tending my wounds. I am reminded of Aunt Beast from a Wrinkle In Time. I begin to feel safe, protected, validated, and loved.
Trust does not come easily. I am filled with shame and doubt. My sisters and a few other family members join the healers. I find the strength and courage to ask for help and to love myself.
It is not a quick recovery, but it is enduring. The cracks and wounds leave scars, but I am transformed, resilient, more joyful and full of newfound peace. I heed Rumi’s advice; I keep my eyes on the bandaged places. I see the light pouring in through the cracks. I look back with gratitude. I appreciate this moment of calm. I look ahead with hope and curiosity.
“Don’t turn away. Keep your gaze on the bandaged place. That’s where the light enters you.”
― Rumi
