Of course there are more key levels to healing, but this is the key recipe for hard times; things to remember during the darker days that unexpectedly creep up. I'm hoping to configure a blog post detailing my healing process. I just have to make it make sense to even me. Remember. I'm a thinking person first. Enough of that. The 3 P's are waiting.
Patience
First, and foremost, have patience with yourself. There is an extreme in leaving an abuser; going from one emotional spectrum to the other end in a nanosecond. It can be very exhausting and very overwhelming. Learning who you are helps. In the beginning, you simply don't know "who" the real "you" is. Expect that; the not knowing. It's ok. Just so long as you're patient enough to take the time to get to know you. I defined myself with my abuser. Sounds strange, but it's very common. It's what the abuser wants. In leaving that environment, everything normal seemed outlandishly abnormal. I remember friends hugging me, congratulating me. It was a shock to my system for a long while. Until I "let" them hug me. Meaning, I decreased my resistance to normal and worked on redefining it. My new normal, if you will. At first, the smile I obliged them and the sterile thank you became easier. A new habit was forming and it started feeling really good having people congratulate me and hug me. Touch was not so foreign and insane at that point.
The other part of patience is having patience with those around you. YOU know your story and how much it hurts but other don't and maybe they are curious and want to help. Be patient with that process. I was on my 12 week pregnancy leave from work when I left my husband and started the divorce proceedings. I had time to review how I would tell my friends and co-workers. It was a big life event that I didn't want to hide but I also wanted the respect and maintain a semblance of sanity during that insane time. During my maternity leave a co-worker held a baby shower. I attended. I wanted to cry for no real reason at all and for a thousand reasons, all at the same time. I pulled her aside and told her the bear minimum. Another co-worker heard, came over, and we had an impromptu pow-wow because the other co-worker was in a similar situation. We talked, we laughed, we cried. I gave only a brief rendition of my story; it was all new. It was enough. By the time I arrived at my job for the first day back from my leave, my office had a welcoming party. Imagine 20 women gathering around offering everything from babysitting services to a night on the town (both, in fact). I soaked it all in & eased them into the "letting." I call it that because that's what it is. You're letting yourself talk and tell and letting people into the process. A call of arms in your battle to remain a strong survivor. They had many questions. I was patient with that. Why tell your story, if you're going to get angry with the inquisition that will surely come. It doesn't make sense. Stay patient. Not everyone lives a horrific, abusive life but they want to know if they ask you for further details. They want to help and if all they can do is listen, you damn well better let them. It helps everyone. I can't speak enough on the Patience portion of this. I used to be so impatient. I'm being forced to be patient and there's a reason for it. It's part of the healing process.
Perseverance
I was in a narcissistic sociopathic abusive relationship. Big fancy word that means my ex husband does not like "losing." He will (and does) do anything to make each step in the legal battle as hard as he possibly can. Drawing out the court proceedings; knowing I have to miss a day of work each month. Drawing it all out in order to see me to either intimidate me or force submission. Making comments as we wait for the judge to hear our progress in the visitation process. Comments designed to make me feel guilty. Perfectly fine by me. I expected that and no less from him. I know how to distance myself from him in every possible situation. I thought of every detail. I learned what exactly a narcissistic person is. Knowledge is key. In this case, my silence has been absolutely golden. Not acknowledging his mind game and not partaking in any of it. My communication style immediately changed. It had to and I knew it. So, internally, I practiced what I might have to say to him in any given situation. Calling the police always helps, too. Which I did on 2 separate occasions. It sent the message very clearly that I would no longer tolerate being intimidated. If I cannot personally handle his psychological dysfunction, I know professional people that can. People that I pay tax dollars to in order to keep me and the rest of the public safe. They're called police officers and lawyers and they took my concerns seriously. The random phone calls and text messages immediately stopped. The intimidation stopped. I was the third woman to report abuse against him. To the survivor reading this, you're not his only victim. Remember that. You hold the key to your safety. If the situation warrants it, call the police and file a police report that will be forever on his record. For you and for any other unknowing soul that crosses his path. You must stay persistent in this stand; this new life you're choosing. He knows you as only the "victim". You must define for yourself what exactly it means to be a survivor and hold strong to that. He doesn't know this "survivor" you, so the process may be rather lengthy. After a while, he'll get bored or tired or lazy or all three. He'll learn you're no longer willing to play games. I find it very helpful to limit the communication, block unknown phone numbers he calls or texts from, and keep whatever communication is necessary concise and to the point. I'm not his friend. I'm not willing to discuss anything further than my own comfort level. I did my homework and I studied hard. The lesson was learning "me."
Passion
Ahh. My favorite part. My passion. I always had it; writing. The key was to keep nurturing it. Once the dust settled, I was able to let it all out. It took a while for me to be honest in my poetry and in my writing, in general. Honest in my head, yes, just not always honest with the prose. I hid in my earlier poems. Always pretty, positive prose. Now, it's part of the healing process. Before, I was writing to some unknown audience. Now, I write strictly for me. So, my courageous survivor of anything in this brutal life, find your passion. You like to paint? Get dirty and mean with it. Make it pretty and spectacular. Make it anything you want it to be. Like music? Crank that mother loving stereo up and have yourself a ball. Dance? Dance until your little toes go numb. It's you. Nothing says who you are like what you're passionate about. Who knows? It just might help ;)
Amazing
ReplyDeleteThank you! I felt really good after I finished writing it. I'm glad you like it.
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