Heal

This past Saturday, I sat on a panel with six other dynamic women. And though womanhood and the fact that we are all black women who'd overcome great barriers of adversity to become triumphant in our own right presented a commonality, ethnicity and sex weren't our only parallels. Something less obvious, but silently deadly stands out like a sore thumb to me. I dare not say 100% because I did not hear that come from every woman's mouth however, of the 7 of us AT LEAST 60% had abuse—in many cases sexual—woven into the fabric of our past. Which means if the seven of us represented the room and the room was filled with 50+ women, AT LEAST 30 of them also have abuse threaded into their past.

I could sense a shame-stench presence lurking in the room. You see, that's the thing about abuse induced trauma, often it is not loud for it has learned to hide away in the secret place of buried memories all while rousing contempt for oneself. And dressed up, shame has the ability to tuck itself away in the shadows and masquerade as angry however, due to the nature of my very own healing journey, what seems less obvious to most, glares to me. And because I am growing increasingly intentional in leaning into what the Spirit of God speaks to me, I have a heightened awareness.

It has been said that time heals all wounds, but I would argue that time only heals what has been revealed. It would be disingenuous of me to pretend to have this healing thing figured out, or to deny how absolutely excruciating it can feel at times. That said, I have both experienced and had a front row seat the ruin of keeping one's truth inside. Thus, the former has proven to be more beneficial.

It is my belief that not professing the things which happened or could have happened to us under the dark glare of night, is the catalyst of generational trauma. Based upon observation, the boogie man rarely stops his antagonistic ways at one victim. Instead, he continues to play the same games of hiding away in the dark in order to wreak havoc on the innocence of another and another and another—that is until the right-wrong-one challenges his tactics of bullying into submission.

For many years, sex and food were my drugs of choice—anesthetics used to numb the pain oozing throughout my person. Subsequently, my 5'2' stature ballooned to 263lbs, yet instead of being met with concern and compassion, often I was terrorized by accusations of being sneaky and fast. During those very low moments of my life, empathy was birthed thus, now I have an intense passion to speak up for those who also find themselves at the end of ridicule with next to no one caring enough to understand for fear of their own trauma being exposed. You see silence begets silence, so it is often from those who have fastened themselves to their own identity of victimhood and shame who wish to silence all others.

I guarantee the journey towards healing will be met with an immense amount of pain, and yet I would argue there has been no experience sweeter and freer than courageously sharing the truth of my story as I endeavor to BE completely who God has purposed me to be.

Care to join me?