Resilience is knowing that you are the only one that has the power to pick yourself up when you fall.
My strength comes from lifting myself up every time I am knocked down. For I have simply been brought up being knocked down. My whole life has been one person after another breaking my trust, beating me down and knocking me down further than the last. I know nothing else other than how to get back up.
It is something I have always done. Something I have always had to do. For I was never given a choice. No-one was there to pick me up when I fell. No-one has ever been there. I had no choice but to pick myself up. It was the only way I would ever survive my past.
I have no idea how I managed it. Especially as a scared, vulnerable child. I suppose my survival instinct just kicked in, as it does with a lot of abuse victims. It is why my survival mode is so strong and well tuned now. I have been perfecting it since I was 5 years old, for nearly 30 years.
It never gets easier, as you think it would. In fact, it only ever gets harder to pick myself up off the floor each time I get knocked down. Why? Because as I have begun my healing journey I have begun to let my heart try to trust again. That means when it is hurt or betrayed, I feel it a hundred times more than ever before.
So yet again, as I sit on the floor in a crumpled mess, with tears streaming down my face, I find myself questioning whether I am indeed strong enough to make it through this latest hurt. Another betrayal. One so painful that it literally feels as though my heart is breaking into a thousand pieces. Each piece a tiny shard of glass piercing my soul, breaking me down, lower than I have ever been.
As I sit with the sliver of silver in my hand, I know it would just be easier to cut so deep. To cut so much that this pain and sadness would just go away, at least for a little while. But something stops me. The voices of my best friends, the messages from my partner, telling me I am worth something, worth more than what I am feeling inside. They love me, want me, need me. I must try for them. Fight for them. The voices of the victims and survivors who read my blog. I am a voice for them. I must fight for them. So I put the blade down with it only nicking my skin.
My heart is hurting though. Hurting bad. I am unsure just how to put those thousands of tiny pieces back together again. Will I ever be able to trust again? Will I ever be able to dream? For I finally thought a dream I had longed for my whole life had come true. But that dream went away along with all the rest. With my childhood. Stolen along with my innocence and freedom. I am afraid to dream. Afraid to fall again.
And yet, somehow, here I am, trying to pick myself up again. Trying to stand tall. It is hard. There are difficult days, depressed days. Lonely days, where no-one really understands. But they are still days where I am trying, fighting, to get back up.
I am tired, exhausted. I want to give up. To give in to the demons in my head that tell me I am not good enough. The demons confirming the things I already think I am. But I don’t. I can’t.
Staying down is a choice. What defines is, is how we rise after falling.
No matter how long it takes, or how hard it is, it is never too late to get back up. Sometimes you have to be knocked down lower than you ever have been to stand taller than you ever were.
I am knocked down again. I have fallen. Fallen hard into darkness and despair and I have lost my spark. But I will find it again. I will never stop trying to get back up and when I do I will rise back up as a fire with my voice even stronger than before.
For it is never too late to get back up….. and one day I will shine again!
Thanks for reading
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