Process

   "Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God--this is your true and proper worship. Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is--His good, pleasing and perfect will." Romans 12:1-2

  I started with my own plan on how to tackle the incredible complexities of the grief weighing so heavily on my heart; to try what had worked before. Instead of individual pages, I started with the image in the centre: a self portrait. then divided the page into quarters. It sat, unfinished, due to my own reluctance to delve into the painful events of the past.

  Instead of writing the emotions down, I was led to draw lines connecting the four quarters together. Each line represents a link, a common theme between circumstances, events, or the toxic lessons repeated over and over again. You could say the lines are a dismantled ball of broken yarn.

  The black dots were added to represent specific events. An easy way to depict them without needing to delve into the memories of what had happened. That's not to say I wasn't reminded, but each dot required spending minimal time immersed in them. 

  But they needed permission to be part of the process all the same.

  Tears were shed. Anger rose up. Bitterness came with its familiar biting-on-tinfoil taste. The burden of responsibility weighed heavy. Guilt, shame, regret, and a thousand other feelings I am unable to identify flowed out of my pen in the form of these small, black dots.

  It was both difficult and cathartic at the same time. It always is, in this sacred place of being. It's where my soul is free to be, to offer it all to God. I am so grateful for His gift.

  

  Where the lines crossed each other, I drew an X trying to illustrate the sparks that happen when the lines of trauma end up interacting. My therapist said it looked like barbed wire. I like that description. It's an apt one.

  When it was finished, I was exhausted because it is exhausting, feeling everything like this. It is the good kind of exhaustion that comes when a burden has been released. 

  Usually, I shut the book when a drawing is finished but this time I left it open. I knew there was something more to it that I couldn't quite grasp. Was it actually finished? Was there more to add? What are You wanting to show me, my Lord?

  It felt like a forgotten word on the tip of my tongue...

  I would walk away for a bit then return. What is it about this picture?

  This happened several times over the course of a couple of days.

  All of a sudden, I realized, this is not only a diagram of my personal ball-of-yarn grief, but it's what Complex PTSD feels like! This image was something extra special because I could show someone and they might begin to understand!

  It has also given me more clarity around the types of struggles I face every day when the barb wire triggers hit without warning. Perhaps, there's even some grace in that clarity and kindness and patience for when the sparks fly. And they do although I don't often know why. 

  Maybe that doesn't matter as much any more. Maybe all that matters is embracing this aspect of myself instead of fighting...hating...it so much. 

  Maybe it's more important to grab hold of the woman in the centre of it all and be okay with who she is.

  It's time. 

  It's time to stop believing the lessons which instilled nothing but self loathing. 

  I have a new Teacher and His name is Jesus.

  You know something else? I just realized all those small black circles are when I learned to hate myself. 

  Is that the foundation of what turns an event into a trauma?

  Maybe it is. Hmmm...that is very, very interesting indeed.