quiet

We went to meeting.
 
I am a fidgetty person, mentally and physically.  I’m the one biting my nails, and making lists if you force me to wait without a book or my knitting.
 
Relaxing enough to just sit and be took conscious effort to begin.
 
I use activity to try to still my thoughts: I walk, swim, sing, play the clarinet (badly!)
 
Breathe deeply. Feel your rhythm.
 
I was distracted by what I could see- in the room, and out through the windows.  Closing my eyes in a roomful of strangers felt too vulnerable.
 
Trust.  You are safe.
 
My mind didn’t empty, but the whirling slowed.  There were patterns, connections.
 

 
(Sitting still in the car was hard; I drew diagrams on the back of my knitting pattern. I think there’s a creative piece in that scribble, but I don’t yet know what medium.)

I don’t know where the rest of that hour went.   Resurfacing was every bit as hard as the centring down had been in the first place.  I needed that hug from Dawn.

Reach out.  You are not alone. 

 

A thought entered my mind, and hasn’t quite left:

It’s easy enough to hold the abused in the light, but maybe the real test is whether you can hold the abuser there too?

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