What does done look like ?

 

Once upon a time, in a fairy tale, I believed there would come a time when I could once and for all put a pretty bow on all the things that had happened to me and move on like nothing ever happened. For a really long time, I truly believed that. Honestly, a part of me still holds onto that hope, if even a little, even if I know it is impossible in my head. Over time and tears, I am learning it will never be the case.  I know that I have come a really long way, I know that I have worked my ass off to get to where I am.  Now I have to learn that there is no end date, no final solutions. Some things will always affect me, always be a part of the person I am, and how I live my life. 

I worked so hard on little Callahan, that innocent five-year-old part of me who just wanted to be loved. That little innocent girl who would have done anything just to be special and to be kept safe and sound. She was something else, always looking for the little things, those little glimmers of life. She saw the smallest ant and the most amazing rainbows. She had a light that refused to give up and give in. Instead, she looked for even more light. Sometimes I wish I knew where that came from; in all that happened, she never lost what made her special. From her earliest memory, she felt different, out of place, and always observant. She noticed everything all around her all the time. She knew when people were off; she knew so many things beyond her years. Today, she is free; she no longer carries the weight of the things she survived. She has never forgotten, but she knows those things were not her fault.  She plays today like she should have all those years ago. She is special, and I will forever cherish her for helping me survive and believing in the good things in life when she was only hurt. She has gotten me here today, and I am forever grateful. 

Then there is spunky. I have worked so very hard, and yet she is still sitting on the couch outside of my therapist's door. She is still more than afraid and blames herself for so much. She is brave and strong and doesn't believe it yet. She wants to be close and belong, but she is still filled with everything she thinks she has control over. She blames herself for so much and is afraid of the unknown. She sits on that couch, afraid to breathe, move, and truly be. She was made to feel at fault, like something was defective about her. I know she has come an exceptionally long way; she is more a part of me than I ever imagined, yet sometimes I feel like she is a million miles away. She is afraid of being a burden and a bother; she was told she was too much of everything her entire life. She bears a story inside of her that is unimaginably heavy, that she doesn't know how to release; she tries in bits and pieces, she does. How does a person share that kind of horror? Her story makes her feel so much less than, and it's easier for her to blame herself than hold those accountable for doing the right thing and taking care of her when she needed them the most. 

I fear she will never be in the place Little Callahan lives. There is a different kind of weight in her soul that I struggle to find words for. Spunky has a knowing that Little Callahan never had. She was aware and felt so much in so many ways that there were no words for. She lives where words don't fit, and the intensity of what she feels is enormous.  Words seem empty for the depth of the things inside of her. She is afraid and alone, and she questions her role in everything all the time. Sometimes it is more than challenging to talk about her, because I don't know what to say or where to start. She lives in this panic, where she isn't good enough and never will be. She is in a place where things that happened play on repeat, and often, she is stuck in that cycle, trying to figure out what she could have done differently.  

I can't even focus on breathing because it is too much. Breathing and focusing on my breath brings a specific awareness I am not ready for. Sometimes I sit in my library when I can breathe, but not for long. That panic sets in, and I literally stop breathing. It's like if I stop breathing, no one can see, and I can't be hurt. I mean, it's crazy. Breathing is a necessity, but that is it. When I focus, there is this need to get away, because it's too intense. Sometimes, even in my writing, I find myself having to take a deep breath because I realize that I have stopped breathing.  If I stop breathing, there is a part of me that just doesn't exist, and if you don't exist, nothing can be taken away from you.  

So today, I am doing all that I can to try and figure out Spunky so that she can get off the couch and stop blaming herself and stop trying to figure out the things that there are no answers for. I think that done for us is going to be her and me, arm in arm, taking on the rest of the world. There is no safe place for her, no going back to something; she has to start from the very beginning, and that has to start with me.  I have said it before, and I will say it again, she is in the middle of everything I am doing right now. Everything I am doing is for her and others like her so they never have to live in silence. 

At this moment, sitting here in tears, I can't answer the question of what being done looks like. Being done is a moving target; when I get to a place I thought would be the end goal, things change, and I want more. Maybe there is no end.  Maybe there is no being done. I do know the place that I want to get to in order to be able to say I am in a place where I will no longer need my Wednesday at 5 o'clock. That thought is terrifying, and it is closer than it has ever been. I am not saying I am ready this month or next month, I don't have a date. But, I also know it's not forever.  I know there will come a time when Spunky and I are arm in arm and prepared to conquer the world. I am in a place, learning and growing, until that day when Spunky and I can be together, making a difference, and standing up for others. I know that when we are done, we will walk through those doors, both strong, brave, and so very capable of changing the world.  We are not done, but we are well on our way. She is me, and I am her; she got me through, now it's my turn to get her through.  

                

                      I heart your heart.