￼sat on the floor and took a mythical breath.
Tears and breath washed me over and over and I realized halfway through the flood that I was crying for relief, and for gratitude.
I am not crazy. I am not unstable fickle irrational hyper-emotional ungrateful or any of the adjectives I have internalized from my dad to judge my own seemingly erratic behavior of bouncing around the world and from man to man. I have had, actually, quite the rational attitude of the survivor. I lived in fight-or-flight all these years, running away from my perpetrator physically and emotionally, putting as much distance as I could and IT ALL MAKES SENSE!
I am so grateful for this extraordinary re-envisioning of my life.
My father hasn’t just “crossed some boundaries” as Jasmine had astutely pointed out. He full-on sexually molested me when I was a little girl.
And I survived.
I dove into healing. Single-mindedly, radically. A full-time job. I felt such a sense of responsibility toward my boy—toward humanity, in fact. I refused to be a bad actor in society, to let unconscious programs run me and cause harm around me. Ahimsa—the first of the five Yamas of yoga—is to do no harm. In order to do no harm, I had to become conscious of all that made me—including the really nasty stuff that had caused me to make bad decisions in the past and hurt people.
I was going to figure my shit out if it killed me.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish