Shine a Light

This post is going to be a confession of sorts... A brutal, but truthful confession of what I've discovered to be very real about Heather.

The last couple of years have been an inward journey for me. I've confronted many of my weaknesses and stared down what I've come to dislike about myself. I've been determined to work on all the things I had decided were wrong with me. I've confronted deamons, excommunicated toxic people, worked on building patience, tried harder to keep time committments, tried to be less of a control freak and know-it-all, and I've even stopped verbally assaulting unsuspecting morons (in most cases). I've been consumed for years and years with what was wrong with me and have neglected to identify what was right with me and impove upon THAT. And today it hit me - instead of working like a plumber to fix all that was broken in me - perhaps I should have spent a little time expanding upon what was good, improving on what's right, shining brighter what was light inside of me. And then I had the horrible realization that I couldn't proudly exclaim very many things about myself that I actually liked. It was a painful, very private and dismal moment that solidified a lump in my throat and it made me as sad as I have ever been. Even as I type this I find that lump very difficult to swallow.

A couple of weeks ago I spoke to a lady on the telephone who blurted out to me that she had been raped four years earlier. I didn't know her, we had never met and I was trying to discuss life insurance options with her when she awkwardly fumbled through the utterance as though she were confessing. I was unsure of what to say or how to advise her. And so I simply stated "It gets better. I swear on my life, it gets better. It won't always be this hard." She burst open like a damn, spilling out her grief and life's burdens. She was estranged from her only son and hadn't been able to get her life back together since the rape occurred. I sat there on the phone listening, remembering what it was like to wear those scars so boldly, so crazy. Even though our lives were not at all similar, I felt as though I was listening to a part of myself. I was absorbing the sounds of this broken woman, wondering all the while what in the world I would say to her when or if she ever finished spilling her words. She finally stopped talking and when she did I could tell immediately that she regretted it and wanted desperately to get off the phone. I let her go politely and then hid myself in the restroom at work and sobbed. I prayed for her and I prayed for myself - that all of us broken girls would get it together one day. I prayed I had been what she needed that day. I prayed that I never sounded quite so broken as she did. And I prayed that there really was a hell and that her attacker would quickly go to it.

I confess that after 17 years I still have no idea how to cope with the loss of my... whatever it is I lost that day. I can't identify what's missing and I can't tell you how I know it's not there anymore. It just isn't. But when I swallowed my self loathing today I can tell you I got a little of it back. I'm putting down the book of "What's Broken in Heather". I don't want to wear wounds or self pity any longer. No more internal conversations regarding what needs to be fixed. None of us are perfect. Most of us are extremely flawed... But I think that's what makes the best that's in us shine that much brighter. I can't keep trying to cover up and make up for what's not right with me. I have to find what's good and make it even better. And unless I start looking, how am I to find it???