Monika Basile's Blog: Confessions of a Bleeding Heart - Posts Tagged "battering"
A Song for Those in Hiding
Ready or not, here I come. We shouted this as children when playing hide and seek. There is a fascination in both parts of the game, the seeking and finding, and the staying hidden so as not to be found. There are more who are hiding.
So many of us remain hiding within our own lives. I think we may be afraid that if anyone looks too closely they will find something that is less than pretty. We are afraid we will be judged. We fear others will think we are weak or foolish. We tremble at the mere thought of someone knowing how low we might have sunk, how deep the hurt lies and how there are things in our existence that give us nightmares. We live among the shadows of our past and the ghosts that linger and we pretend that none of it mattered and nothing has touched us that deeply.
We hide. We don’t have to. We just do it as some misguided attempt of self-preservation.
There is a piece of my life I kept hidden for many years. The saddest part is that I hid it from myself too. I was afraid of examining it all too closely and having to wear the title of victim. Who wants that name associated with themselves? Who wants to think that they are someone that was caught in a nightmare, with little opportunity to escape into the unknown? Who wants to be known as a victim of their own choices and mistakes? Not me. That is a phrase I have whispered in my soul for years with little understanding of why I said it. Not me—I did this, I didn’t fix it, and I didn’t run.
It took me many years to realize that fear can paralyze you.
It was strange to think that I deserved sadness and heartache because of a choice I initially made. I allowed things into my life that I didn’t realize would attempt to destroy me. I didn’t know how to ask for help. I didn’t know that I even was entitled to help since I chose the spot I was in not comprehending exactly where that spot really was.
Battering is not always physical punches and kicks. It is a left hook at your heart and a karate chop to the soul. It leaves you shaking and quivering and stunned and then telling yourself it’s only words and they said words can never hurt you. It’s a lie. Words haunt you. Words can beat you down. Even after a voice stops shouting, stops sneering, stops degrading—it is not silenced. It is a bell ringing with echo upon echo into your very being. Words are left resonating inside of us and then our own timid chirps will join in and give the monster in our nightmare more power. “It’s true. It must be true. It is real. I am what he says I am.”
Ten years after escaping, ten years later I finally realized what the hell had happened to me. I finally understood that my reactions to other events in my life were a direct result of what I had been a part of for twenty years.
The healing didn’t come with leaving and starting over. The healing came with love. I was graced with family and friends gathering around me; the same people I hid my life from, were the same people who drew me back to the living.
The healing came with finding out that I could go on—no matter what, I could go on.
The healing came with the understanding that I was still me, a woman with hopes and dreams and a good amount of ability to love grandly and deeply and greatly.
The healing didn’t come with the knowledge that I didn’t deserve to be a victim. No one deserves to be the victim of someone else’s misery.
The healing came with actually believing it. Truly believing it.
That voice at times still echoes—not so often, but yes, it is still there to creep up on occasion. Only now, I am louder. My voice is louder. Even when I am only whispering, my voice is singing a song of a survival so strongly it drowns out the echoes until they fade away into nothing.
And I am so utterly grateful that I have found my life’s song.
Monika M. Basile
So many of us remain hiding within our own lives. I think we may be afraid that if anyone looks too closely they will find something that is less than pretty. We are afraid we will be judged. We fear others will think we are weak or foolish. We tremble at the mere thought of someone knowing how low we might have sunk, how deep the hurt lies and how there are things in our existence that give us nightmares. We live among the shadows of our past and the ghosts that linger and we pretend that none of it mattered and nothing has touched us that deeply.
We hide. We don’t have to. We just do it as some misguided attempt of self-preservation.
There is a piece of my life I kept hidden for many years. The saddest part is that I hid it from myself too. I was afraid of examining it all too closely and having to wear the title of victim. Who wants that name associated with themselves? Who wants to think that they are someone that was caught in a nightmare, with little opportunity to escape into the unknown? Who wants to be known as a victim of their own choices and mistakes? Not me. That is a phrase I have whispered in my soul for years with little understanding of why I said it. Not me—I did this, I didn’t fix it, and I didn’t run.
It took me many years to realize that fear can paralyze you.
It was strange to think that I deserved sadness and heartache because of a choice I initially made. I allowed things into my life that I didn’t realize would attempt to destroy me. I didn’t know how to ask for help. I didn’t know that I even was entitled to help since I chose the spot I was in not comprehending exactly where that spot really was.
Battering is not always physical punches and kicks. It is a left hook at your heart and a karate chop to the soul. It leaves you shaking and quivering and stunned and then telling yourself it’s only words and they said words can never hurt you. It’s a lie. Words haunt you. Words can beat you down. Even after a voice stops shouting, stops sneering, stops degrading—it is not silenced. It is a bell ringing with echo upon echo into your very being. Words are left resonating inside of us and then our own timid chirps will join in and give the monster in our nightmare more power. “It’s true. It must be true. It is real. I am what he says I am.”
Ten years after escaping, ten years later I finally realized what the hell had happened to me. I finally understood that my reactions to other events in my life were a direct result of what I had been a part of for twenty years.
The healing didn’t come with leaving and starting over. The healing came with love. I was graced with family and friends gathering around me; the same people I hid my life from, were the same people who drew me back to the living.
The healing came with finding out that I could go on—no matter what, I could go on.
The healing came with the understanding that I was still me, a woman with hopes and dreams and a good amount of ability to love grandly and deeply and greatly.
The healing didn’t come with the knowledge that I didn’t deserve to be a victim. No one deserves to be the victim of someone else’s misery.
The healing came with actually believing it. Truly believing it.
That voice at times still echoes—not so often, but yes, it is still there to creep up on occasion. Only now, I am louder. My voice is louder. Even when I am only whispering, my voice is singing a song of a survival so strongly it drowns out the echoes until they fade away into nothing.
And I am so utterly grateful that I have found my life’s song.
Monika M. Basile
