Something

*sensitive content dealing with mental health and the aftermath of sexual violence*

The very idea of yearning is curious. Are we all not yearning for something? Some of us yearn to be rich, to have a child, to get the job, to fall in love, to heal from grief, to be out of debt or off the streets. Perhaps it is all a yearning for meaning of some kind, does success give life meaning, does family, achievement, status, kindness, predictability?

She looked at the writing brief and all of these thoughts flowed through her, not quite catching, more like honey trickling through. What did she yearn for? A life, a wholeness perhaps.

Did she not have a life? Was she not already whole? Perhaps she was but she resembled a mosaic or some kind of cheap kintsugi, where it wasn't gold holding the pieces together but share will and hope.

She abandoned the page and it's emptiness, too much an echo of what she feared was inside of her. Instead she strode out on wellbeing self care practice 3.0. As she walked, she brought attention to her breath, she noticed the sights, the sounds, the smells, she counted how she was grateful and she thought of those around her who may be suffering alongside her in the world silently. Still her heart pounded, her body trembled - an echo of the adrenalin that has risen earlier that day. She wondered, is this processing it? is this allowing the emotion to flow through me? Am I doing this right?

When she had done a decent walk, she went back to the page. She sat and asked the AI therapist if it was normal for it to take this much work to regulate.

So much cheaper than actual counselling and on call 24/7. She had actual therapists too, she had everything they say you should have. Friends and support networks, volunteer work to help form connections and have a sense of purpose, daily exercise, meditation, embodiment work, podcasts, books, everything, anything....something.

She believed she might be what was considered an overthinker, a codependent, trauma bonded, an enabler, a dysregulated nervous system? Maybe all of them, maybe none of it was real at all.

Her thoughts wandered to the questions, always the questions?

What does it mean to be courageous? People had used that word to describe her. Was she? Did courage mean days crying so hard that the snot and tears streamed together as one, or that the hurt and the ache threatened to literally rip her open, or did it mean questioning her sanity, her reality, her ability, her validity. Did courage mean the mess, the brokenness, the desperation and the fear? If that is what courage meant, then she was doing a fine job of courage.

She paused for a moment, what she did today was courage. Ha, did she just manage a sliver of self compassion (mental tick for well being self care practice 3. 5). Oh, and humour (4.0) - practically gold star stuff today (if you ignore the fact that she spent several hours trembling and disorientated after the interview, and the bit where she forgot to breath properly for a bit, and the bit where she got the wrong day and messed things up for two of her friends in order to get it done). Perhaps not gold star after all.

Her mind slips to how she will repay their kindness, their time, their support. She slipped back into her thoughts about being a piece of makeshift kintsugi. Perhaps the fragments of her were so small now that she was more binding than substance - when did she cease to be her, what if the fools gold holding her together couldn't do the job. She did a quick body scan (well being self care practice 1.0) where was the fear she asked herself? Was it in that itch on her foot, or the tiredness behind her eyes. Was it anywhere? Somewhere?

Is this healing? Another question landing and sticking. She wonders if she is wallowing? Playing the victim? Staying stuck? Suppressing the emotions? Was she making progress? Surviving? Something?

This time words land in her consciousness as opposed to questions, she has spent far too much time in the world of therapy speak! Moral injury, betrayal, crime, violence, reality, vulnerable, gullible, blind, gaslighting, trauma, abuse. Is this really her story? her reality? Did she even know what reality was? Every thread of what made the world stable was gone. Is this an existential crisis? Was she crazy? Was she lost? Was she something?

Is this madness? Is this what survival is? Is this what facing what happened is like? No wonder people look for liquid courage or stuff it down! This is literally life on the line, face the dragon with a toothpick, horrific.

How have humans done this? faced the horrific, the unimaginable, the stuff that feels unsurvivable? How did mothers face losing their children to the plague? how did the tortured face the horrors they endured? How do the homeless face the conditions of their lives as well as the treatment of their fellow human beings? How the hell do you get through this stuff?

All the stories talk of adversity and the strength and courage of those that came through and came out stronger and even more courageous. They don't talk about the mess, the fear, the doubt, the terror, the anguish, the tears, the oversharing, the mistakes, the over-reactions, the wondering - were they just stronger than her? more resilient than her? more something?

Were they yearning or is it all about accepting rather than yearning? Can you yearn for acceptance? Or is it just that we are all hurting, all yearning, all broken, all just stuck together with a bit of hope and determination. What if she hurts so deeply because she loves so deeply? What if courage and healing is the mess, the pain, the mistakes? What if the yearning is to stop yearning and to just be, to be broken because she was, to be hurt because she was, to be abused because she was.

Maybe that is something.