Trauma’s long Thread.

I was given a picture this week that has , so far, been helpful to me.

Its about string… or rope…

I was in conversation with someone who has supported me for a while through some of the challenges ive faced in the last few years, in the conversation I mentioned that whilst I am feeling generally good (and this is true, I am) , that I had ‘moved on ‘ beyond some of the things that were requiring of the support, and this is also true.

But I could sense in myself that a number of things recently had cause me to be triggered, affected, and I was in danger of reacting to them.

It doesn’t matter what they are, but they are stories of abuse investigations in churches, the swirl of conversation, and realising that although I wasn’t involved, I realise quite how easily I may have been as easily manipulated, and how my emotionally spiritually abusive childhood would have set me up to be so.

Did I ever think that I had been able to ‘let go’ of the string and cause the balloon of 40 years of abuse to just fly away?

Did I really think that? No, but maybe I hadn’t been able to create a way of explaining the dynamic of journeying through life with that upbringing as a shadow, as a thread, that plays sometimes a larger or smaller part.

I had let go of the string.

Originally it was a tight rope. I was trapped. Only with an ending in sight go leaving home at 18. Until that point it was in a toxic swirl, a large tight rope that surrounded me, suffocating, squeezing, unable to breathe, relax, unable to feel. Just the metaphorical pain of the rope burns.

Until I could see the rope, for what it is, I was led to believe I was self tightening it, that it was my rope to carry.

The balloon string used to be a thick rope.

I had to distance myself from the rope.

It could be let go of, I could now detach myself from the rope.

But as my support person said this week to me.

The String is long.

The balloon at the end of the string has lifted off, but the thread that is attached to the balloon is long.

Its got a lot of ‘lifting off’ to do before it has finally left.

I realised that there are things that happen to cause me to grab hold of the string.

And when I do, its as if the string has been coloured with a dye, and its infected me, my hands turn red, its transferred its mucky dye, and I need to noticed this, and let this cleanse out of me too.

I got angry this week, it was my detox, to get the dye out, to protect myself again. I got some ‘fucks’ out in the privacy of my own voice, my flat and in drawing them. No plates or property were damaged… ;-)

The string is long.

What if I accept that the string is long?

Actually, I have to.

The string may be all forms of dye. It is death.

Yet it tries to give off a spark.

It tries to make itself invisible too.

Just so that I touch it. Just so that I forget about it, with the hope that it gets reignited.

And it gets the chance to release its poison.

Other times it convinces itself that its ok to touch, and by then its too late.

Sometimes I do completely forget the string. Its when im having fun, its when im not thinking about it, its when im in the flow of something else.

But other times, accidental and known cause the string to be more obvious. Anniversary days, Stories of abuse, Safeguarding training even.. All to one extent reminders of the string..

But I can still choose.

I can choose how close I want to get to the string.

I choose.

What if I do something whilst holding the string – the string wants me to blame it, to play victim to the string. Tightening the grip.

Circulating the poisonous dye even further. Taking away my own power to choose.

I have that power.

Being friends with the string is to accept that it is there. It’s not to fight it. Resistance is futile and hard work. Acceptance.

A lifetime of abuse and the string is long.

But it doesn’t suffocate. Its is just there. It exists, and im not scared of it, just finding new ways to live with the string.

Its just a long string.

It requires warm playable hands to let it through my grip, to flow.

To gently notice the string and put it in its place.

Better to notice the string and let it go, again, walk away from it.

Accepting that it is long.

Noticing it and being able to talk to it, from me, the real me.

A type of mindfulness.

Loving myself releases it

Loving myself cleanses

Loving myself, doing for myself, creating fun and colour… is more rewarding that the ‘attractive’ colour dye on the string, however sparky it hopes to appear.

Accepting the long string, the threads of abuse, is better that pretending that it doesn’t exists and trying to be completely free from it. Its not realistic, its not helpful.

I have felt so so much better this week as I have began to accept the string, and in doing so detach from it.

Maybe its about keeping the darkness close, being friends with the shadow, so it can be talked to.

Its been a helpful image for me this week.