Sitting with thoughts and feelings is often harder than I’d like it to be, and I don’t think I am unique in my experience. But spending years ignoring those thoughts and feelings hasn’t served me well. In fact, it has left me lying in bed countless nights, willing myself to fall asleep but feeling a vague restlessness urging me to run a marathon to slow my heart instead. It’s as if I have been trying to keep secrets from myself while also fighting to keep secrets from the rest of the world, and the result has been a slow decay of my physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual sense of self.

Back in January, when I was thinking about my intention for the year, I thought about what boat needed to be burned next. I was thinking about it in the context of self-compassion and allowing myself grace to be human. In March of this year, I realized that I needed to burn the boat of secrecy. I needed, more than anything else, to share my story, including all my thoughts and beliefs about what happened. That included the judgmental ones as well. So, I wrote my narrative, and Dr. C. read it aloud. (My experience with therapy during that time can be found in April and May of this year. Next, she took the narrative I had written and asked me to rewrite it. I also wrote about that experience in two parts, once in May and the other in July. The gap was only because of health problems, but it also put a hold on continuing therapy with my narrative. That was frustrating but also necessary. Therapy won’t be as effective as it needs to be if I am not eating, drinking, sleeping, or functioning as I need to be. But this week, Dr. C. and I burned another boat. I’d like to share that experience with you all, and maybe it will spark a little courage in you—to do the necessary hard things.

On Tuesday, Dr. C. started reading my new narrative. It was the part of the narrative where I feel the most healing has taken place, and that was evident as she read. I was able to sit with each part and have compassion and understanding. I was able to hold space and grace for the 8-year-old, 10-year-old, and 13-year-old. And even as she continued with the beginning of the 25-year-old’s story, I found myself listening to the words that had been living inside me unhealed for years and sitting with each sensation, emotion, and thought as if they each belonged there, blame-free. My experience on Tuesday with the narrative was unlike my other experiences. Sure, I had moments of intense shame and embarrassment. I had moments of re-experiencing sadness and loneliness. But do you know what else I had? I had HUMOR! I smiled and laughed a few times! I recognized that parts of my narrative, which I had judged myself for relentlessly and viciously, were actually kind of comical. I realized that some parts of my trauma experience were so absurd that they needed to be felt differently. You know what I found out? My therapist rolled her eyes at the very moment I laughed out loud. It really was THAT absurd. I walked out of my therapist’s office on Tuesday feeling 100% in SELF. I felt grateful to be heard and seen by myself and my therapist. I felt as though I was able to hold myself with compassion and acceptance. It was an entirely different experience for me.

I spent the next few days reflecting. I asked myself how I felt about each part, specifically how I felt about my 25-year-old self. I also chose to focus on the positive aspects rather than the shame and embarrassment. I wasn’t running from those things, per se, but I was choosing which path to take.

Today (Friday) was inevitably going to be more difficult. I knew that going in. I knew the narrative was going to get progressively harder to sit through. I knew it would take effort to listen, stay present, and show compassion. I felt embarrassed, ashamed, and disgusted. But I also felt incredibly sad. It felt like a difficult balancing act; one minute I was sitting with tension and discomfort and trying to stay present, while the next minute I was grieving the damaged relationships and loneliness my 25-year-old part experienced. It sucked. I vacillated between hot and cold, tension and numbness, pain and mindful breathing. But I listened and sat with every overwhelming thought, sensation, and emotion.

In this moment, I am struggling a little with the 25-year-old. I am not really fighting her or hating her. I am somewhere between wanting to blame her and knowing and understanding the much larger picture. I am trying to be curious while also fearing the hatred and self-blame I know I am capable of. Either way, curiosity and seeing much more of the picture is a better place to be.

Let me also say this: It is much easier to care for yourself mentally and emotionally when you are taking care of your physical needs. I am eating and drinking as best I can despite having GI issues, taking medication, working regular hours, sleeping with consistent hours, running when I feel good and walking when I don’t, camping and having bonfires in my own yard because I generally don’t feel well enough to adventure elsewhere, and listening to my thoughts and emotions and taking the time to allow what comes up for me. None of that is particularly easy or what I want, but it is what healing looks like for now.