I don’t spend a lot of time writing about ‘what happened’ while I was with the sociopath. What happened cannot be changed. What can change is how I treat myself today. What I do today to create the beautiful life I deserve. In that process, I write about the triggers from the past that sometimes erupt and their impact on my life today. I find too much ruminating over what happened in the there and then affects my here and now. It holds me back from living each moment of my day with joyful abandon.
Recently, however, a producer approached me about taking my book, The Dandelion Spirit, and turning it into a movie.
Wow. Cool. Weird.
Love it, even though part of me is scared it’s just a joke. It isn’t true – vestiges of the sociopathic encounter that would have me believe the world is not a safe and loving place.
In acknowledging I deserve my success, I have to participate in the process of making my dreams come true. The producer has asked for more details about some of the things that happened. He’s asked me to write them out. Not that the story needs more drama – I mean really, what could be more dramatic than an encounter with a sociopath? Every moment is filled with the angst and drama of the shifting sands of reality stirring up terror and fear in every gasping breath. Every day is replete with the drama he created to keep the veil of confusion sealed around me. The drama was part of what I became addicted to. It was part of what kept me ensnared in his unholy embrace, gasping for air as I drowned beneath the trauma of loving him.
It isn’t that the story needs more drama, but it does need specific moments that reveal the subtle manipulative mechanisms he employed to keep his Prince Charming mask in place.
And so, I’ve begun the process of writing out some of the events that I did not write about in The Dandelion Spirit. These are the events that were so painful, so numbing, so humbling that I have avoided looking at them – until now.
It’s been an interesting, not to mention surprising, process. Surprising because, some events still remain sensitive to light. Touching them hurts. And yet, in the process of writing them out, I let them out, I let them go. I cast light upon the shadows and release them to the past. In writing them out, the pain eases and I breathe more deeply the fresh clear air of gratitude and appreciation in which I live my life today.
The momentary pain of re-living the event eases as I face the sadness of having once been ‘that woman’ back then who was so abused. Writing them out is good for me.
As I write, it is imperative that I remind myself – that was then, this is now. I cannot heal what I do not acknowledge. I cannot change what happened, nor the past. I can change its hold on me today.
I was hurt in that relationship. Deeply wounded. I fell hard. I fell fast. I fell.
Today, I am not that same woman who pleaded endlessly with ‘her man’ to please forgive her for….. Fill in the blanks. I asked him to forgive me for breathing in the end, for taking up room, for being part of his life. I spent most of my time begging for his forgiveness, all the while never acknowledging, forgiving him was not necessary – stopping his abuse in my life was.
In healing, I have let go of forgiving him – he doesn’t matter in my life today and forgiving him is for me, not him. In healing, I focus my attention on me and forgive myself. I forgive myself for holding myself in that place where he had permission and the latitude to abuse me. For lying to myself, for continually lying to the world as I tried desperately to pretend I was okay, that everything in my world was alright – that was a lie. I knew it then. I acknowledge it today and forgive myself with a loving heart.
In writing out the events I’ve never been able to speak of, I give myself permission to heal those areas of my heart that remain pocked with the pits of that time when I gave up on me and gave into a man who I believed had the right to abuse my love, faith, hope and trust.
It’s hard work writing out some of these events – but it’s good work. Healing. Soothing. It makes me joyful. For, in the writing out, I let it out and when I let it out it no longer hides uneasily in darkness within me.
In writing it out, I give myself permission to step into the beautiful light of my life today, freely, lovingly, completely. In writing it out, I acknowledge, what he did back then is nothing compared to what I am capable of doing today when I stand without fear and look into the mirror of my eyes and say, I love myself exactly the way I am. I am free.