Where They Left Her…
A Journey Towards Empowerment
A few years back my life changed drastically. It was one of those moments that kind of blind sides you, you know, the one that you thought would never happen to you. It was one of betrayal and complete utter disbelieve. It is a story so many of us share, where our lives are changed drastically, more often than not, for reasons beyond our control. When this happens, the opportunity for transformation usually occurs. At least it did for me.
Transformation, I found, is not easy. It takes work, time, and patience. Often, it feels like I am trudging through the muck and darkest side of my feelings, a process in which I am facing myself head on, all of me, both the light and dark parts. While painful at times, it is worth every bit of it. I have found it is a path towards empowerment and more.
If there is anything I can share with you, while reminding myself as well, is to be kind and gentle to yourself. Forgive. Forgive yourself and others. You are not alone. And remember, it is a journey.
Where They Left Her…
Where they left her to dry and crumble into pieces on a floor of dust, memories, betrayals and lies is where she grew. It is here she found droplets of water that came in the form of her tears. Salty drops, saturating the ground, creating puddles and pools around her head, her heart, her body.
Where they left her to shrink small on the floor of family history past, of patterns repeated, she found herself. She took that water of life, born of pain and loss of hope and longing for change and she grew a small green patch. It was small, sad, and only slightly green at first, but it grew nonetheless.
Overtime, with her watering and care she poured more and more of herself into that patch. The patch that never existed before her, for she was the reason it was there. She was the reason that it grew at all.
Determined to lift herself off the floor made dirty by generations before, she vowed to no longer be a part of it. She began to refuse crumbling, to not become another layer of the dust. Instead she continued to grow. She built new love, new trust, new dreams. New beginnings that had nothing to do with the old specks of filth surrounding her.
Move she told herself, stretch she told herself, breathe she told herself, and let it go.
She came to realize, slowly, that all those including herself, who kept her on the floor, who demanded, insisted she stay comatose, were full of lies and illusions. She was not what they defined. She was stronger than she believed. She was so much more than what they could, or cared, or wanted to see.
Her rising off the floor was painful for her and a pain they had to face themselves. For you see, they don’t want to look at themselves or take any responsibility for the part they played to put her there. No, they wanted her to remain still. To turn quietly into the dust so as not to disturb their own fears, their own facing of the music.
But her tears, her knowledge, her strength and that small little patch of green told her differently. It told her to stand, to raise her head, to feel the sun on her face and bathe in the moonbeams. And so she did.
With time she picked herself off that floor, where they left her to become the dust, and grew into a beautiful tree. Now, among their carcasses and history of discarded things, blooms a beautiful tree. A tree, that with the help of the wind and use of its leaves slowly sweeps away the dust around her.
Her roots grow deep and infiltrate the mirrored colored glasses of hate and blame. They are weakening, cracks are beginning to show. She grows so grand they can no longer ignore her, or at least trip over her roots once in a while. And if all her pain and heartbreak was for nothing but to trip them up, if only a few times, then she accepts it. Even if they don’t stop to recognize her strength and beauty, others of like kind will. She is empowering herself, she is transforming and hopefully inspiring others to do so too.
Where they left her, she no longer remains.
