I continue to heal. With each movement, I understand the distance from “there”, the place where this all started, to “here”, some temporary marker of my life. The distance is nothing short of extreme, and the benefits beyond miraculous. I am running out of words to describe this.
In this path, I have become someone very different, someone with a felt sense of what it is like to dig my way to the surface of the earth from unspeakable depths. The only knowing was the desperate and extreme self-doubt: mystery blinded me to all else.
Displacing the weight and the demands of my childhood traumas has opened me to such beauty, but it has also exposed me to the felt sense of others that carry similar burdens. I almost experience their weight, and I feel the need to reach out.
But of course, I cannot. It is not their time, and it is not my place. Each person comes to their healing when they are ready and it is not up to me or anyone else to interfere.
I am unsure what I am to do with these sensations. It feels that there might be a place for me, maybe as a witness or an invisible companion, someone that holds space for healing. Sometimes I try to imagine what it might have been like to have someone alongside of me, someone who understood the difficult emotional terrain I had to traverse.
For now, I will listen and hold space.