Grief and Poison
Overwhelming, excruciating, arresting grief is the antidote to trauma’s poison. A companion that walks beside us and reveals the truth. Becoming a balm of assurance in the undeniable madness that is healing. For after each mighty surge, there is a powerful release that reveals a new option. A provoking and poignant piece of evidence that invites us to relearn, and relearn and relearn and relearn, that we do not have to repress our emotion to live. In fact, it is our emotions, our bodies, that are our key to freedom in the aftermath of living out death whilst still breathing.
Allowing the devastation in every cell to be heard, allowed, unedited. Believed, but not necessarily picked apart in order to try and control it, manipulate it, or diagnose it. For not, all our truth will be revolutionary. It may just be...pain. The simple, pure, unadulterated vulnerability that we validly run from. Require resource to hold.
Grief releases us from the stronghold of our fear and permits our armour to eventually fall off. In turn, we are then welcome to recognize that this resistant armour was built to protect us from what lies within us rather than outside us. We have already been harmed, healing only happens when we exit it. Our wounds may become comfortable, but they also leave us walking patterns and cycles that end in the same type of alluring high we became accustomed to in our abuse. Our task of self-healing, as unfair and demanding as it is, is a privilege.
Isolation is my chosen drug to mirror the same high of my trauma’s poison. It is pure self-harm, and it is powerfully addicting. When wounded, I operate from resistance. I actively deny myself love, connection, and help. Pushing away my needs, and in turn hurting not only myself but my chosen family. Living out the greatest lie that my mother spoke into my body; that I am a martyr, sick and unworthy of love. I hurt, so I hide. But my hiding only amplifies the old lies and wounds.
Holding compassion for my inability to choose love, new informed, healthy, healing love, is a conscious act. I’ve attempted to create new neural pathways before, but never in a space where my full body could participate. That’s because I did it alone. This journey of embodied trauma, revealing itself through nerve damage diseases and pain, is like going through a prolonged detox from the poison of trauma. It brings me face to face with my own formulation of the high, as I stated above. The drug of isolation.
Grief has brought me to my core self, shaking and trembling in recognition. I choose love, not trauma. I choose life, and I am fucking terrified. But this choice is not a once-off like before when my many selves only had the ability to say “Yes” to it alone and mainly out of fear. Today it is made differently. Today, tonight, in every cell I have decided. As my grief purges me of the poison, I choose to actively pause and feel in daily practice, I choose to face the options before me and decide differently than what my trauma taught me. I do not have to live out hurt in isolation. I get another option, and I believe myself as I choose it.
Just as I believe you.