I played soccer for over 8 years throughout my pre-teen/teen years. I’m a klutz (like trip over my own feet kinda klutz) so I was not a soccer star. But I loved it and I played with all of my closest friends.
Not-so-graceful me would sometimes take a ball straight in the chest. The force would push me over with the wind knocked out of me.
I would lay there seeing stars for a few moments until finally, my team cheered me on to get back up.
Up I went. Until five games later the same thing happened again.
Even with the wind knocked out of me – I would get up every single time with more fervor.
Ironically enough, a legitimate wind knocked out me incident was the rotten cherry on top that sent me over the edge to go full in on my recovery from an eating disorder.
A car accident. An airbag to the face and chest served as a reminder: you’re still alive but why aren’t you living?
For months, every single day following that post felt like a force repeatedly to the chest with the wind knocked of out me.
“Two days…,”I told my boss as I left work for full-time treatment. “Two days and I’ll be back.”
I laugh as I tell that story now because oh girlllllll. I was in for the worst (but eventually best) kind of awakening.
Truthfully, I’d “fall off” in my recovery more times than I can even count. Days on days of the can’t breathe, don’t want to move forward moments.
But I was blessed with people cheering me on at every step during the messiest parts of healing.
After the millionth blow to the chest that week my best friend turned to me on the couch (me in a full on ugly cry.)
What are your options? To give up? You won’t give up…”
“But why I am I not better YET. I want to be better now…” I was beyond exasperated with myself. “Getting knocked down every time…it is exhausting.
When I was tired, the people in my life reminded me of me of my resiliency. They believed in me when I couldn’t.
Until I could.
I would get back up after each blow. Each relapse. Each time with more intensity.
Over time, and with a ton of patience, there were less staring at stars victim mentality moments of “I can’t do this” and more “I will do this” moments.
Two years later I see how I took on healing – body and mind – with a two day timeline.
We set specifics on healing. How it has to look this way or take this amount of time.
Because heartbreak hurts. Every day feels like a force to your chest. Heavy and exhausting. We want it to be over. Now.
We want to flash forward to the clean, bright and better days.
Sometimes even heartbreak from the shortest relationships take real time to heal.
Sometimes it is not a person we’re healing from. It’s our past. Illness. Addiction. Abuse. The parts of ourselves that keep us trapped.
Real healing may not happen in two day or two months. It is a series of messy moments. Seeking real help and support from the people around you. Facing all the things we don’t want to face. Feeling all the things we want to anesthetize ourselves to. Wondering how we can move forward after the thousandth fall down.
Until you can and you do. Realizing it takes more than two days time and it takes patience.
Flash forward to today. Two years later and I still face tons of messy healing moments.
There is pain and a lot of ugly couch cries in these moments.
But I see growth. I see resilience. I see love – for myself and from the people around me.
Luckily, I finally see myself.
Maybe instead of slamming the door on pain, I need to throw open the door wide and say, Come in. Sit down with me. And don’t leave until you have taught me what I need to know…
Recovery is an unbecoming. My healing has been a peeling away of costume after costume until here I am, still and naked before God, stripped down to my real identity.”
xo Collette Marie