I have posted a bit about the violence that has been erupting on the perimeters of my life and splattering in little, dripping globs about my feet. I have only touched the surface, somewhat out of self-preservation. Mostly because I chose that this time I was going to take care of myself for real and that didn’t look like hashing it out over and over in gory detail in this blog or anywhere else for that matter.
I was surprised to realize that what I had thought had been healed from my violent marriage had not even been addressed. It all came exploding to the surface with a blinding flash when I heard my daughter’s terrified voice on the other end of my phone begging for me to come help her fast!
Throughout this past week, I have done so many sessions with my Reiki Master Teacher, my mentors and a Rapid Eye Therapist. I have enrolled my daughter in several of these sessions, as well as providing the way for her to have her own sessions. It was imperative that the imprint of that night move out of both of us. The greatest gift I could give her was to allow her the space to process it, really process it so that she didn’t walk around for the rest of her life a ticking timebomb waiting to explode at the drop of a pin. I offered that gift to myself as well.
Tonight I am tired. Moving energy, realigning memories and releasing imprints can leave one exhausted. When one takes it on as fully and as HUGELY as I have, tired is a guarantee.
And yet, I still felt the need to write…
Another friend, during this week, has been doing some of her own revealing on her blog regarding her own violent marriage of years past. She did it in three parts, three consecutive days of release. On the third day, someone chose to anonymously comment, “My don’t you make a good victim.”
I felt enraged when I read that. This person showed a total lack of plain human compassion. Yeah, I am sure there are people out there who roll their eyes when they hear tales of seemingly unbelievable horrors experienced in moments of domestic violence. And blessed are they that can never imagine it because they have never experienced it. But, I would venture to guess that most people are tactful enough that they keep their belittling comments to themselves.
I found myself wanting to ask that person questions like: What if it were your daughter who was crouched on the floor protecting her unborn child? Would your daughter make a good victim too?
Domestic violence is no respecter of race, religion or financial class. It is, unfortunately, everywhere and even, sometimes, in those perfect houses where you could never imagine anything bad happening. Maybe even worse in those very places. This insidious destructor undermines our society and strips our children of their sense of safety, security. It crawls like vermin through the streets and seeps in through the doors, showing up on calm faces and in quiet voices. Sometimes it is words that hurt the heart, purposely destroying dreams and sanity. Sometimes it is livid silence that speaks louder than any sound. Sometimes it is a withering look filled with acid. Sometimes it is a striking fist, a swinging belt, a head meeting the wall.
And as long as there are people out there willing to stand in the shadows and taunt the abused, as long as there are people who are willing to show their hateful nature without revealing their true identity, this world does not stand a chance in healing itself.
I have a story that this person who chose to victimize and taunt someone who was revealing their pain in the hopes of healing is very possibly more damaged than me or my friend. It is the only thing I can come to because I believe a healthy human being could never show such a lack in judgment and compassion? So I long to reach out to this person and show them that a cracked face and a wounded belly does not crack my heart, does not break my soul. Instead, it gives me the courage to forgive and to love. Even the one person who hurt me the most.
