On Coming to Life

I used to think it was him. I used to think that my husband saved me. That he healed me. That he carried me through the darkness of my life and brought me out on the other side. I believed that I was only whole because he held all of my broken pieces in the palm of his hand and put them back together again.

I was wrong.

I used to think it was them; my sons, the beautiful lives that had been entrusted to me. I believed that their beating hearts saved me. Their purity, their perfection, their need for me to be better than who I really was- saved me. 

Again. I was wrong.

Because no one else saved me.

I did.

My husband accepted me. He knew who I was and what I had gone through. He knew the struggle that was lying inside of me and the struggle that we would likely have to fight together. He knew all of this. And yet, he never needed me to change. And when the time came, he allowed me to heal on MY terms, when I was ready. He let me fight my demons and make my mistakes. He let me cry and scream and hurt and bleed until there was barely a fragment of me left standing. And it was all okay. Because, to him, I had always been okay. To him, I had always been strong and brave and resilient and whole. To him, I had already fought the biggest fight of all…and that was surviving.

My children brought me to life. They let me live their beautiful innocence and reclaim my own. They needed me through my strength and through my weakness. They let me embrace the hurting pieces of my littlest self and love it into forgiveness.

But I’m still the one who did the work. I was the one who stood, time and time again, hands outstretched in love. 

And I'm the one who has to keep doing the work.

I am the one who goes to the darkest parts of my soul and fights like a warrior. I am the one who stands up to the demons. I am the one who takes on the battle. I am the one who gets beaten down time and time again. And I am the one who has to stand back up. 

But furthermore, I am the one who wakes up every day and continues the fight. Every single day, I have to make the choice to crawl on the altar so I can sacrifice who I was in honour of who I can be.

Every day, I have to choose all over again.

And for everything that everyone else has done...only I can do that.

My loves, if you are in the midst of a battle right now or rising from the ashes, I beg of you to remember this; Those than know your heart are there, every step of the way, walking it out, giving you both the strength and the rest to make it to the other side. 

But when it comes to the work; if you are going to own the tragedy, then you owe it to yourself to own the triumph.  Own your choices. Own your sorrow. Own your own personal victory.