This is how it feels. This emotional wound.
No matter how I try to release the hurt. It finds it’s way back into my life.
I know this place. I know this pain. A part of me lives here. People I love live here. Memories live here.
Letting go of this wound means letting go of these people. Where we all live, intermingled, within the good and bad memories. Letting go of who I was to them.
These people I love and want to please. These people I want to heal.
But can’t.
I can only heal and love myself. But the wound is deep and keeps re-emerging. Sometimes as anger and resentment. Other times, as sadness and depression.
I long to move beyond the wound. At times I feel I have. Into some space all spiritual, sparkly and clean.
Then a certain challenge occurs. Or a certain sense of abandonment. And the wound is back.
But this time with a little of the sparkle around it.
Maybe I’ve begun to let go of a memory. Rewrite it, with forgiveness and compassion for all involved.
Maybe I’m giving it love and acceptance. Rather than surrounding it with shame and rejection.
Maybe some of the sparkly substance has enough truth to stick and permeate the wound. Enough so healing can begin. Enough so happiness can grow and feel comfortable.
Then one day the wound will only be a scar. One who’s story I know well. But have no need to re-tell.
