The good news is I didn’t take a tumble down the mountain face. The bad news is my phone did. It’s just a cracked screen, but enough glass is missing from it that I’m not about to put up with months of this. The repair is $150ish.
I’m not mad about this.
In the overall timeline of me owning phones, this is the first time I’ve had to pay for a repair. I’ve not lost or broken them. My phone slipped out of my bag when I was leaning over a section of rock for balance and went skipping down a mass of granite. Oops. But that’s all. It broke, it can be fixed, the cost is inconvenient but I can and will make it up and it’ll be ok.
And that perspective is so forgiving toward myself. There was a time in my life that this would have put a dark cloud over the whole trip. Now it’s just a shrug and I go on about being happy.
And trying to recover.
I spent the end of the week/early weekend in meetings, but a very generous friend let me crash her cottage, so other than feed myself and show up on time, I had no responsibilities. It was glorious. There was a lot of wine. And it was enough of a quiet space that by Sunday I was back in the middle of digging through the piles of trauma I haven’t yet sorted out.
I disassociate. I don’t get my heart involved but hide behind going through the motions. I fear something as yet unnamed.
The insight from my therapist this morning hit me hard. It was rough to hear what she had to say. I cried a lot. Lately I cry a lot in therapy. But beneath the tears I was happy, because hard as it is, this is what I want. I want to heal, even if it hurts.
Friends of mine got engaged last night. She’s a trauma survivor with PTSD, and has struggled to accept that he accepts her. I’m thrilled for them, and reminded of what my life isn’t.
And also what it is.
It’s not someone else’s story.
I live firmly rooted in a reality that rarely remains centered on what I want, and often veers so far toward responsibilities, obligations and support for others that I often wonder if I’ll find my way back to myself. I do, because my roots run deep in the center, and as much as I get knocked sideways, I can pull myself back.
Again. And again. And again.
I get stretched a lot.