Years of muscle straining, oxygen deprived, mind exploding, grief-laden work to manage the grip of the skeleton hands of the past.
The rocky terrain and deep crevasses that held the traps of programmed words ready to pull me down into oblivion.
Deafening winds, echoes of the past knocking me down, pushing me sideways, making it hard to grip the rope.
The storm passes, allowing time to pause, to rest, to catch my breath.
So many times, wanting to give up, and give in to the beast of symptoms.
Instead, I chose to trust. knowing, that I would be guided through the sharpest peaks and deepest valleys.
Summiting many times, thinking there were no more hidden mountains. Then catching glimpse of the last, gnarly climb looming just around the bend.
Everything inside me screams, “No, leave it,” but I realize that climbing all but that last steep incline would leave me stuck, and breathless. Allowing just enough space for the blinders of denial to slowly creep back into place.
I push through. One last climb to release the locked, cold grip of the past.
Then quietly, I make a gentle descent. The thick, foreboding, dangerously tricky mountain range looming steadfastly behind me.
Scar tissue begins to replace open wounds.
I work to accept my abilities in the wake of my past. A sense of accomplishment for not giving in to the siren call of hopelessness that still tries to fill my sometimes fragile, yet strong whole-self.
The arduous climb, my trust in the process, the quiet, gentle descent. The exhalation of living fully in the truth. My truth.
I have slain the beast, and with the Warriors’ call of accomplishment, I rest on the tender ground of acceptance.
Thank you for reading my books: If I Could Tell You How It Feels, and Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph