For several nights, for several reasons, this has been the look on my face as I lay awake and thinking about… far too much and not enough. It has also shown a bit about how I know that there are still pieces of the woman I was the day I was raped by my (now ex) husband.
Yesterday a friend posted a link to an absolutely wonderful project endeavor: Project Unbreakable. It is my plan this weekend to add my voice to the project. It is a voice that has felt so frozen and paralyzed… but doesn’t want to be afraid anymore. As cheesy as it sounds, I have learned through these years just how much success is the ability to not be afraid successfully… even if you are.
So many people have approached me over these years and said how strong I am. So many people have said that they value my dedication to this city, my goals, my passions, my art, and…
People handle their pain in their own way. It is not ours to tell them that their way is wrong or right. It is, however, our duty as people to be there for them or not if they extend their hearts to us… respecting the ways that they would like us to do that.
Monday I nearly didn’t go out. I was invited to attend a mini conference. I have been feeling physically dreadful for the past few weeks. Feeling physically ill does not necessarily make for the happiest of Jenas. I have been on a fair amount of personal quarantine this week as I cope with it.
Going to that conference made me remember my strength. I was just.. me. Little did I know that doing just that was enough to be remembered in a substantial way I would find out later this week. It is humbling to even think about… and perhaps, nearly as scary.
I think about those people who believe in me. About the strangers that have me in confidence. Of the new faces I met because I decided to shove the pain to the side and just… wake up and walk out there.
You motivate me.
You give me hope.
You give me strength.
So why am I so damn scared sometimes?
A couple of wonderful things came into view this week. Reminders of all the impact I have done. Reminders that that girl laying in bed sick and scared is also bold and brazen and confident and… strong. Reminders that… the scars are still there but they are not to be afraid of.
This is my day.
This is my year.
The scared girl doesn’t need to be forgotten. She needs to be remembered as she is the reason why the strong one that exists is here in the first place.
Editors side note: the movie images used in this post are from a movie which I knew would become one of my favorites before it came out. It was, as fate would have it, a movie my ex husband would refuse to watch with me. I didn’t end up watching it until after he was no longer around physically. Perhaps that was a little sign in itself.