“A Stroke of Grace: Soul Scribes of a Survivor”
My God. Here we are. It’s taken me a lifetime to sit down and
say these words without tears, anxiety, hesitation, or untruths. I had to dig so far into my spirit for the strength to
write these words; let alone, share them. I always knew that one day I would make the hard parts of my life public. I feel
that these are the most important words I’ve written so far in my life. The words and sentiments behind them are attached to a
higher power than myself, and they have the power to transform. I don’t say that with arrogance. I’ve begun my
transformation, and that’s something I never thought would happen. The months that I worked on my healing, I prayed that
God would give me the right words, and the courage to be completely honest as He asked me to be. This is about my
health on all levels. All my adult life, I’ve heard God tell me to write about
my childhood, and the trauma I “lived” through. The last time I prayed about my
next writing, I told God that I didn’t the subject to be connected with my
health in any way. I decided that I wouldn’t write about my health, thank you
very much! Well, you know that - or it’s been said - if you want to make God
laugh, tell Him your plans. I’ve been on a medical leave for over a year now.
When God wants you to listen - and you don’t - He’ll sit you down one way or
another. I, of course, learned the hard way, and it’s been the scariest, and
most eye- opening experience of my life. Truthfully, I never wanted to face
anything, and I sure didn’t want to write these words. He told me to live, tell
the brutally honest facts of my life as I’ve known it thus far, and to tell my
story. I’m writing these words out of obedience. God told me that my blessings
would flow as a result of my words. I’m not sure what to expect, or where these
words will land. Sometimes all you have is God, faith, and the belief in the
power of your own words. I started this journey thinking that I needed to heal
my body. What I later found is that while my body did/does need to heal,
what I really needed was a healing of my spirit, and my mental health. What I
thought would be a ‘story’ about surviving a medical emergency turned out to be
my testimony instead.
On March 3, 2020, I woke up like normal, and went in to a job
that I was hating. I was feeling drained on a daily basis, but this job did pay
the bills. One minute I turned to laugh with co-workers, and in the next
second, I knew my life was in danger. I was speaking with a patient, and the
room began to slowly spin around me. I started feeling pain in my head. It felt
like somebody had a bag full of bricks and knives, and they were beating and
stabbing my skull with no mercy. The pain quickly traveled down my neck,
and also through my spine. I remember excusing myself from the call I was on,
and I called a co-worker to my desk. I told her to call 911 right now. I told
her to hurry because I knew that I was dying. I think she panicked, because I
remember her leaving me to get help. She came back, and I told her again to
call 911. The pain I was experiencing is something I could never fully express
to anybody. To say that I literally felt my brain exploding diminishes the
level of pain that ricocheted through my head. I tried to answer questions
between the pain, but my answers gave way to me repeatedly saying that I
was dying. My manager took over the call, and sent my other co-worker back to
her desk. I’m saying that I’m dying, and all I hear is my manager praying over
me, and my life. In the middle of everything, something whispered to me to calm
down. My speech slowed, and I sat almost quietly while waiting for the
paramedics to arrive. It took some extra time for them to find my correct
location. Another manager ran outside, and directed paramedics to my desk.
When I got into the ambulance, I remember still whispering about
what I was certain was going to be my death. My physical death. I told God that
since I was going to die anyway, would he at least flash my life before my
eyes. I told Him that I needed my last memory of this life to be something
beautiful - if not happy. I waited for the “life flash”, but it never came.
Even though fear was pulsing through my entire body, I had a quiet moment of
peace. It fell over me like the gentle love of a mother. The noise of the
paramedic and traffic faded into nothingness as I quietly waited for death. I
was no longer scared, and there was a surreal, welcoming calm that surrounded
me. This calm did not show up alone, and I knew that I was directly in the
presence of God. Maybe this would be my moment to let go of a life I wasn’t
sure I wanted to keep living. More on that later. I told God about my fear of
leaving this earth at such an early age (56). I told Him I couldn’t believe
that He would let me die when I felt so utterly unaccomplished. SURELY, He
hadn’t placed all those feelings of pending greatness in my heart, only to have
me question if those feelings were the lies that kept me attached to a life I
was sure would eventually live up to the majestic images I quietly (and
fearfully) carried in my heart my entire life. I’d always lived my life through
quiet tears, but I still always felt like I was this wonderful, dynamic woman.
How could my life be ending without this woman making her entrance, and finally
having a chance to dance on her own rainbow? I felt that my greatness was
innate, but covered by a pile of shit, dirt, uselessness, and so much
uncertainty. If this was to be the end of my life, I felt I would be ok no
matter where the end results took me. I never saw my life flash before me,
so I began to believe that I might live through whatever was happening in
my body.
When I got to the ER where my brother works, I remembered seeing him waiting in the doorway for me. When we talked later, I told him I remembered seeing him waiting for me, and he said he wasn’t there waiting. So at that point, I can only assume that I had begun to hallucinate. I’m
told that my family and friends were there, but I have no memory of that. There was a week or so that I have no memory of, and maybe that’s a good thing. All the tubes and procedures are the things most patients pray to forget. I saw
flowers, and many trinkets of love, but I didn’t/couldn’t connect to it in any
real way.
After about a week of visitors, I looked around to finally
realize that I was in a hospital. I didn’t understand that fact. I thought I
went to work, and it was now the next day. I wasn’t just in the hospital.
I was in the ICU. A feeling of fear and darkness grabbed me. I’m positive that
my brother and doctors had told me what happened, but all I can
remember is that I felt lost. As it turned out, I’d had a stroke - which
presented as a ruptured left-brain aneurysm. A separate part of my brain was
also bleeding at the same time, and spinal fluid was also leaking into my
brain at the same time. I had 2 determined brain surgeons who worked on me
for 8 hours straight, and I thank God for those men and their
determination and talent. The odds of surviving something of this magnitude are
very small. My surgeons and therapists have either told me I’m a miracle,
or that I have many angels surrounding me. Just saying those words shakes
my insides to the core. I went to work on 3/3/20 for a normal day of
work, and I left that job in a race to save my life.
I’m now living a life I have no idea how to live - for many
reasons I will delve into later. When God removes all of your crutches,
what do you do, and how do you move on? What do you do when the only
life you’ve ever known has been completely obliterated? How do you
put your life back together when the pieces no longer connect, and you
have no tangible way of connecting to any of the broken pieces that now
lay at your feet? When you ask questions, but you get no answers; you
sit, and you pray. Well, that’s what I did. I got the courage to finally
ask God WHY He saved ME. I thought out of all people, ME? When I thought
of people God would save, I thought of teachers, or people who fed
the poor. Not just the ordinary person I thought myself to be.
I remember the saying I used to hear growing up: God don’t make
no junk! I mediated on these words, and it opened my eyes to the
possibility that MAYBE I wasn’t the nothing I had always seen myself as. I
grew up (and survived) some abuse, and the effects pretty much robbed me
of my dignity, humanity, hope, and self-esteem. I was ‘living’ a life I
wasn’t even sure I want to live. Maybe this stroke would be my
golden opportunity to finally let go of this life that meant absolutely
nothing to me. The weight of those words. Wow.
Any truths that stop you in your tracks are so worth praying
over, and further exploring. I had to ask myself why I was so willing to
let this life go. I had to ask myself why I had never committed to
anything, or even took care of myself. Why didn’t I care about ME? Again,
and again, I asked God for the reason He chose to save my life. I’ve
watched as others lost their lives, but not me. I even asked God why
didn’t He just take my life. He told me to live my life, and to share my
story. Well, God, I said; I’m living my life now. Again, He said live your
life. I asked Him a couple more times, and each time, I got the same
response. Obviously, there was something I was missing. To live your life
sounds so simple. For me, this was a tall order. In my life, I’d learned
to survive one thing after the other, other, and other. I finally realized
that while I had learned to survive, I’d not learned to LIVE. I was at a
crossroads, and the weight of the ‘I’m ok’ mask had gotten so heavy. That
mask began to crumble long ago, and I knew in my heart that I was not ok.
All the loud, crazy unhappiness was standing over me. Staring me in
the face in a way that I knew I could no longer accept or ingest. I
was terrified because I knew I was going to have to come face to face
with every emotion, situation, and excuse I had used to keep me
planted where I didn’t want or need to be. I knew this would be a
painful process. God all but told me I would be gutted in the process of
my healing. I couldn’t run anymore. I couldn’t cry anymore. Either I
could now walk my road to a healing, or I would simply go back to existing
- and wait to die. This was a huge turning point for me. I was/am
healing from a stroke. The weight of the mask, sick body, and weary
spirit showed me one indisputable fact: Not only was my body sick. I was
sick all the way down to my soul. Soul sickness may not be a medical diagnosis,
but it damn sure felt accurate to me.
God told me that the very thing I’ve avoided touching would be
the very thing that would reward me, and change the trajectory of my life,
and my future. As I watched/felt the weight of the mask crack, I feared
who I would become. Who would be revealed to the world? To myself?
Would I connect in any way to the new person who would now be staring
back at me? Would or could I love her, or show her the love that she
has always deserved? The love she always wanted?
I knew ages ago that I needed this healing, and I would tell God that all I needed was for the world to stop long enough for me to mentally take care of myself. I prayed over and over for this time, but of course, it never came. In what world can a person leave their job, receive help, pay their bills, and still have a job when all is said and done? I felt I had to just keep going. So I did. My spirit called out to grasp, understand, and heal my prior ‘life’. I didn’t really know where to start. All I had was a pen, paper, time, and a dream of life on the other side of what I knew I would have to leave behind. Having no idea where to begin, I decided to start at the beginning (as God told me to).
I was born to an 18-year-old young woman/child who had the
purest, most loving heart I’ve ever known. She grew up in a tragically
abusive home, and I have no idea how she survived her childhood with
any amount of love in her heart. She told me that at the age of 13, she
made the decision that she wouldn’t be the same ‘parent’ to her kids as
the ‘parents’ that she was born to. Her words. Not mine. That’s
something that I thanked her for many times while she was still alive. She
tried speaking life into me and my sibling, even though she was not
afforded that same right/luxury in her own life. I knew she would do her
absolute best for us, and that’s what made it SO hard to reconcile my
feelings of resentment that I held for her. She always said she dreaded
the day that I would realize that I resented her, and I would always tell
her that there was no way in the world that I could ever resent her. How
could I possibly resent the one person who gave me the best of everything
she had to give? How did I curl my lips to say I resented her, when all I
saw when I looked in her eyes was a little girl whose only wish was to
be loved? How could I say I resented her when I saw a woman who
went without her basic needs just so that we had what we needed? How
could I resent her choices when I knew she probably based her decision on
her fucked up, abusive childhood, and a basic lack of love and care that
she didn’t receive in her life? She finally decided to get help dealing
with her childhood abuse late in her life, and I applauded her for that.
What good would it have done for me to bring up my feelings of
resentment when I saw her reaching for her own healing? Would my telling
her of my feelings impede her healing? I loved my mom more than I
loved myself, and I just couldn’t see me being the wrench in her wheel of
self- love and healing. I knew that I could not and would not ever be the one to stop her or hurt her while she strived for her own mental health. That’s not who I was, am, or will ever be. So, I kept my feelings to myself, and went on with
my life. But my own healing demanded that I be honest about my
feelings, and I just had to say the words: I resented my mother. She
NEVER abused us in any way, but her choice of men in her life ushered physical, mental,
and sexual abuse into my life. Those men brought destruction, fear, and
self-loathing to my doorstep. I wish I didn’t remember everything, but I’m
the sibling who holds all of the memories; while my sibling remembers
nothing. After I made peace with my true feelings, I said prayers for my
mom’ fatigued, weary spirit. She was ready to leave this earth when she
passed. She passed without my telling her that I finally understood her
dread about my resentment. I never got to tell her that I finally saw how
she was robbed of her humanity and safety in her own home. I think in my
earlier years, I equated resentment with hatred. The guilt ate me alive.
Now, I can see the difference between resentment and hatred, and I have
accepted my resentment without ever hating her. I forgave her, and prayed
that she left this earth in peace. I prayed that she was finally free of
her childhood traumas, and that her spirit laid down and left behind all
feelings connected to her fight for peace on this side. I prayed that she
took any and all love that we, and many others, had for her. We laid her
to rest in 2006, and she has let me know that she rests in peace. That’s
all I could ever ask for. Thank you for your love, Mom.
This next memory is something I debated about sharing, but I felt
that I needed to get this one out. I’d always run away from the
feelings associated with it, but I could no longer let these feelings keep
me from healing. My mom was involved with a man who was quietly abusive
and cruel. I was roughly 2 years old, and I had wet the bed. I was
potty- trained before I was a year old, so the fact that I was wetting the
bed again should’ve been the biggest red flag ever. After wetting the
bed, this ‘man’ rubbed my face in my pee, and proceeded to beat me in
the face with a rolled-up newspaper. You know, the same way that you
do when house-breaking a puppy. Of course, it was painful and
humiliating. Fast forward to getting our first puppy. I was between the
ages of 5-6. The puppy wet the floor. He had his face rubbed in the pee,
and was beat in the face with a rolled-up newspaper. When I witnessed
this, my mind immediately flashed back to the punishment I’d received for
the same ‘crime’. It was at that moment that I made/figured out/put my
value in my family as the same as that of the family dog. I lost all of my
humanity, and I no longer thought of myself as human. I gave up all of my
dreams of singing or dancing. I was a puppy, and puppies and dogs don’t
sing or dance. It was so hard to be a shiny little girl when I lived my life in the shadows of a puppy. I was, unfortunately, a precocious, intelligent-thinking young
girl, so my ‘logic’ made sense to me. I would have lived the life of
anybody else not to have this as part of my memory. This memory haunts me
to this day, and will probably always be my reminder that this was the day I
lost my beauty, dignity, humanity, and feeling of worth in this world. There
are days that this memory leaves me balled up on the floor with unending tears
streaming down my face. Like now.
It was during that time that I was also being sexually abused by
another male. It wasn’t just a one-time thing. Even though he tried to
turn it into a game, I already knew how abuse felt, and I knew what he was
doing was wrong. I would physically fight him to try to keep him off of
me, but what can a 5-year-old really do to hurt somebody so much bigger and
stronger than her? I lost every fight. After a while, I just
stopped fighting. I would close my eyes, and stare straight ahead at the
wall in front of me. Sometimes there would be baths afterwards, and
I remember just looking down into the water. I wondered how many
times would this happen to me. I later found out that this person who hurt
me was sent to prison, and murdered by his fellow inmates. I don’t know
the reason for his murder, but venturing a guess wouldn’t be too hard. I
can still feel the sting of these, and many other memories. After
having already been through so many horrors-some I won’t discuss yet-this
was the moment that I gave up. Just the fact that I’m speaking of a child
that young making a conscious decision to give up on life gives me an
ache that still breaks me. I checked out. I vowed that I wouldn’t let
anybody near me again. I had learned-incorrectly-that love was something
that only brought pain. I’d learned that men hurt you, and had no
capability of showing real love or safe affections. I’d
learned-incorrectly-that people who love you never could never see the
truth, so why bother to say anything. I learned-incorrectly-that I was
completely alone, so why not just be by myself. Those were the kinds of
memories that God pretty much demanded that I acknowledge, and cleanse in
my spirit. For those of us who’ve given up, I know we never forget the
incremental deaths that go hand-in-hand with childhood abuse. The deaths are many. They live on via recurring nightmares, and silenced, unacknowledged adult trauma. Do you know what happens when adults live in silent trauma? Talk to an addict. Workaholic. Recluses. Those who don’t understand why they ‘are the way they are’. Walls up, but secretly protects the sweetest of all hearts. I called them (me) the angry angel. And the saddest of all? The one who sees suicide as the only way to separate from their pain. We’re literally everywhere you go, but rarely do you take the time to actually see us. I’m praying
that this healing means that these memories will no longer be stumbling
blocks to my happiness - and my road to a life I should’ve been living all
along. The truth of being robbed of a soul I didn’t even know existed is a
fact that visits me often. Especially when I wonder what and where I
would’ve/ could’ve been without the garbage that saturated my being, and
my very life as I knew it. Tapping into that knowledge was so haunting,
and profoundly devastating. It brought up all the dreams that I’d
secretly dreamed, in spite of what had been stolen from me. I was fascinated
by Tina Turner, and I was just so curious about her hair! I saw her sing
and dance, and I knew in my mind that I could do what she was doing
when ‘I got big’! In my young mind, I was this little dancer. How does a
child survive repeated traumas and believe there’s a such thing as a dream? I
chose to survive. Yes, it was a choice. I put that little girl to rest. I
walked away from her, and all the fighting I’d done to be seen as a good
girl - and not the little monster that slowly began to show her face, and
hateful, belligerent ways. I lived my life through fits of rage and
defiance - all in the name of survival. I was full of fight. I looked
at all the things I wanted to be, and I came to the
conclusion-incorrectly- that these bad things happened to me because of my
‘badness’. I thought ‘God won’t let bad girls do good things’, but I still
thought maybe I could be this, or that, or that. I now know
that this is the kind of pain that I can no longer give energy to. The
‘wouldda/couldda’ thing is like riding a merry-go-round with no attendant,
and there are no stops on this ride. I only have this moment, and even
now, I still force myself to remember that.
I can’t make any apologies for how depressing this might sound.
It’s my truth, and I have to accept it as part of my life - and my ongoing
journey to healing. All my life, I had wondered why had it been so easy to
ignore the positive possibilities I probably had a real shot at. Why and
how did I choose to forego the work of fixing my life? Why live a cheap existence
when in my heart and soul I knew God created me for greatness? I had
decided that the effort and work it would take to fix me was a waste,
because I simply wasn’t worth it. That feels so harsh, but saying it out
loud finally feels like the truth of the matter. I had mastered each and
every way to throw my life away, but at least I now knew why. The old me
died on 3-3-20. She is no more, and I know I will never get her back. I
mourn her, and leave her to take her rest. For all intents and purposes,
she was already dead anyway. Once I accepted that ‘she’ was gone, I had no
idea what my life would be. There was a blank slate that was now staring
at me. I had survived the scariest medical happening of my life, and I
stared my own mortality in the face. Mortality demands that I ask myself
the toughest questions that I’d previously kept buried, ignored, and
dismissed. I felt that I had experienced enough pain, and that there was
no reason to ‘drag all of that up’. But as I said; this healing isn’t just
about my physical. Without the stroke, I truly believe my physical life
would’ve ended. I had already given up, so it was only a matter of time,
really.
As a child, I had a few dreams here and there. None big enough
that I would step outside of my comfortable mess in order to chase,
and/or achieve. None big enough to erase the ugly untruths I believed
about myself. None bright enough to help me embrace by beauty, nor
the talents and possibilities that were such a part of who I was. It’s insane
to me that it took a stroke to make finally recognize that the life I
was ‘living’ was one of disconnection from anything that
mattered. While I wallowed in the nothingness of my life, that time
was periodically interrupted by my REAL internal voice that spoke to me of my
beauty, power, and greatness. How would I balance my gut telling me that I
was dynamic, when my voices from the past only uttered humiliation and
worthlessness into my spirit? I’m stubborn, and I have a spirit that will
survive at all costs. I found myself at a point where I was tired of the
fight to ‘just survive’. That feeling had drained me of the good that I
was still fighting so hard to hang onto.
Even though I was losing things left and right, I felt like I was on the right path. I just knew that I could no longer fight, and I had no real power. Well, not when I woke up to the fact that it was God who was now guiding me through the mess that was MY life - and not me. I screwed up my life by not living it, and seeing what a blessing life really was/is. He didn’t give me life to sit and watch me live it so far under the bar like I had been doing. It was time for me to humble myself, and ask Him for help with my life. The life I pretty much destroyed vs. the life He wants me to live are so not the same thing! Looking back, it feels as though God figuratively wrestled me to the ground in order to truly have my attention. I had to finally wave the white flag, and sit quietly while He showed me my life - good, bad, ugly, and all ways in between. I kind of pictured Him face-palming, and saying “FINALLY”! He told me that my issues from my past were killing my potential, and keeping me from the life He had planned for me. What do you do when God says this painful healing is necessary? Well, you sit down like a student, and listen to the lessons. Take in the messages. Rage and write. Cry and forgive. Love and understand the pain of those who hurt you. Purge and move on to the next lesson. Rinse and repeat. The whole forgiveness thing; I learned I also had to forgive myself. I’d carried all those bad feelings from childhood, and those feelings presented in my life as self- destructive behaviors. The half-lived life that I chose was no protection whatsoever to me. Doing nothing was the nail in the coffin that I never saw, or accepted until that fact was graciously presented to me, and for me. I had to forgive myself, and recognize that I was the one who was ruining my life. The men who brought their shit into my childhood; I’m still working on forgiving them. Everything isn’t always tied up with a pretty red bow. Sometimes, it just is what it is. I could go on about the memories, but I feel that I’ve touched on them sufficiently. There are many memories that will always stay with me, but it’s time to put them to bed. I frequently prayed to die at an early age, and I had always thought that I would be dead by the age of 7. I feared it, but I was certain that was what I wanted. I was literally shocked when my 7th birthday rolled around. Apparently, God had other plans for my life.
I find it so crazy and merciful that I didn’t lose my
God-given talent of expressing myself through the written word. If you
were to give me a word problem or a diagram, I would seriously struggle to
make sense of it. I know that’s because of the stroke, but I guess it’s a
little weird that I can still write, but can’t think my way through some
of the simplest things. I’m witnessing God and His mercy, and I’m living
in that mercy now. I’ve always lived in it. Just never truly acknowledged
it. God’s been telling me my whole life to be more intentioned with
my writing, and to take it seriously. Repeatedly, I heard Him questioning
me about wasting the talents He’d given me to use, share, and uplift
others. Before my stroke, I ignored His voice, and even said I wasn’t
interested in sharing anything with anybody. My first entry about writing
about my abuse went like this: “God, You told me that I need to write
about being molested, abused, etc. I don’t know WHY You talk about the
devil being the one who hurts you, when it’s YOU who’s
asking me to re-live all my horrible memories!!! You KNOW this will hurt
me, but You’re gonna hurt me anyway??? I see no reason, nor do I see your
ALLEGED MERCY in dragging up my past! YOU’RE the demon!!!”
**Deer-in- the-headlights-stare** I don’t know why God didn’t just take me
OUT??? The stroke was the perfect opportunity, right? It wasn’t until
after my stroke that I even asked God for His forgiveness for my
words. Apparently, I’m that problem child that God chose to save, and not
give up on.
Had I not taken this quiet time and all these months to delve
into my pain, the healing I’m now experiencing wouldn’t have been
possible. God took the most horrific and devastating things in my life,
and used those things to give me a chance at a real life. Real happiness
and peace. The life I now believe that He intended all along. I have no
idea what this new life will be, and I worry about lagging behind. I’ve
always felt like others around me were running, and I was/am just taking
baby steps. I feel that I’ve lost so much in life, but if that life wasn’t
part of the real plan - then maybe I didn’t really lose it. I don’t know
who I’m becoming (yet). What will I be? How will I connect to this new
woman that is starting over again? Will I love her? Will I allow her to be
loved? I’ve come to realize that my stubbornness was really fear in
disguise. I saw that trait save me in so many instances, but also kept my
heart, feet, mind, body, and soul in places they were never meant to
inhabit. Fear was/is the ultimate double-edged sword. Saving me one
second, and burying me the next.
After wading through the wreckage of my life, the one thing-of
many- that sticks with me is this: No amount of abuse, and/or
self-destruction was able to kill what God placed in my heart. If the good
that was in me survived all the hell that I survived, then who I’m seeing
now is who I’ve been all along. For me, this is HUGE! I’ve had to fight
for this peace, but it’s been worth it! All my life, I felt this tug in my
heart that spoke better of me than I had ever dared to speak of myself.
That tug got me through my roughest days, and kept a touch of
hope in every tear that fell. It never let me go, or let my spirit die. I
believe that ‘tug’ was God. He was there the whole time. Waiting on
me.
So, what are my takeaways from this life-changing event? Many!
1. God don’t make no junk! He wouldn’t have saved my life unless there was
something else this woman/soul had to do. Don’t see me. See what God
brought me through!
2. God sees my potential, and I believe that
He was determined that I see it, and use it for the good of whoever is
reading this - and needed the words as much (or more) than I did.
3. The healing was/is so much more than my
body. I’m healing on every single level. I’ve taken control of my health.
In 8 months, I lost 40 lbs., and I have zero desire to stop until I get to
a weight I can live with - not survive with. Let that sink in a moment! I
finally started talking with a psychologist to learn to deal with my
childhood abuse, and I’m working on a closer relationship with God.
4. God told me OUT LOUD to stay at home. I worked 55 hours before being
told I needed to start long-term disability. I could no longer perform my
job. I thought this was wrong, but it was actually the best thing ever.
This is the time God used to dig into my spirit, and show me some
life-altering truths. Like the fact that I was showing Him that I didn’t
want the life He gave me. All the while, He was showing me His love,
merely, and grace my whole life. He’s been waiting for me to grasp the
POSSIBILITY of what my life could be. He had so many walls to break through,
and stroke was the perfect opportunity.
5. Existing and living are such
different things. Existing always felt like I was hanging on to a
shoestring that could break or burn at any moment. It was frightening
because I was never sure what would be the moment that I no longer felt
like it was worth it to listen to the ‘tug’, and the inner voice that kept
me around. I’ve finally come to the understanding that I have a life to
LIVE! Having my life so graciously given back to me is a blessing that so
many people don’t get the chance to experience. I was told that a lot of
people who have the kind of stoke I had don’t even make it to the hospital
in time to save their lives. I don’t have the right to throw my
opportunities away. I did that before. Look where it got me. None of us
know how long we have here, and it can be over in a second. Literally.
6. Listen to your body. I had been having severe headaches, but I chalked
it up to stress from my job. The headaches weren’t constant, so
I dismissed it. My body was talking to me, but I didn’t listen.
Huge mistake!
7. This is the biggest, most-shocking takeaway for me. I used to hear
people say that when they’d faced the biggest challenges of their lives
that they actually felt blessed, and were THANKFUL for those moments!
Wait, whatttttt? It’s no longer something I think of as possible glib,
catch-phrase people used in order to feel extra preachy,
or fake-Christian-like. That was my own ignorance, and inability to
accept catastrophes as blessings, and sometimes-necessary events to move
your feet and spirit into a new place. I sincerely had to apologize for
that. I know that fact on a soul level now.
8. A HUGE lightbulb moment for me came during my therapy after my stroke. I was going to 6 appointments every week, and something dawned on me. For somebody who doesn’t wanna live (I said to myself), you sure are working awfully hard to keep your life. That stopped me in my tracks, and probably gave me one of the biggest epiphanies I’ve ever experienced in my life. I realized that it wasn’t that I wanted to die. It was the ‘living / existing’ that I couldn’t go back to. That epiphany was the heavenly whisper I needed to open my eyes, and begin the change of heart that I desperately needed. His heavenly whispers have quietly been my lifeline this whole time.
The life I used to ‘live’ is dying, but at the hands of God; not
mine. There was a time in my 30s that I decided I would end my life. I
took out a razor blade, and placed it on top of a vein on my right arm. I
sat for the longest time looking at that vein. My thoughts trailed off to
my mother having to identify my body. That’s the one and only reason
I didn’t go through with the suicide. I loved her more than I loved myself, and I
felt extremely selfish and self-centered. I put the razor away, and
continued with my ‘life’. Looking back, I’ve had Gods’ grace and mercy at
my feet, but I was too locked into my fear, feelings, and survival
to recognize that fact. I felt that MAYBE I had His grace and
mercy because I was still alive, but I never really grasped or even
recognized it until I had the stroke. I thought this journey would be
strictly about healing my body. Who knew that healing this body would be
the least of my worries? Who knew that looking death in the eye would be
the very thing that would breathe life back into my spirit?
I’ve talked a lot about healing from my childhood, and that’s
the healing I needed more than anything. Given time, I knew my body would
heal, but my spiritual healing would be a whole other issue. I see some
traits dying. I’m replacing painful memories with real hope now. That
beat-down, burdened, defeated little girl did her job, and took all the
punches so that I can now live. She was strong, but I no longer need her.
Tears filled my eyes as I told her good-bye. I hid myself in her, and
somehow, she knew the real me, and who and what I would one day become.
She was the armor given to me in order that I would survive until I
learned to live.
Another good thing to come out of having the stroke is me now
knowing who truly loves me, and that’s something I wish I had allowed
myself to see before. My family and friends have been here for me in ways
I never would’ve imagined. I know who my tribe is, and I know what I mean
to people. I see them on both sides of the line, and my vision is sharp.
I can’t believe I’m even saying this out loud, but I want a love in my life. Of course, I love my family and friends, but I’ve spent my life shunning even the possibility of having a good man in my life. I used to feel that I was protecting my heart, but now I feel that I only robbed myself of receiving the very love that I swore I didn’t need. I’ve actually deprived myself of love for way too long. All these years I’ve lived alone, and I had no idea how much I needed love until I started this journey of healing. I’m deserving of love, and it’s an amazing feeling to finally have my heart open to the possibility of being with a healthy, beautiful, mature man who matches, or even surpasses my love language. I’m finally in that space, but it’s 1,000% more lonely now that I’m here. When I didn’t want it, it didn’t matter. Now it feels like I’m stalking the mailbox for a check that may or may not come. But for me to give up on a love that I deserve is bowing to my abusers. I don’t bow to anybody, and I never walk away from what I feel belongs to me. Ever. I’m not done healing yet, but just the fact that I’m feeling hope whatsoever shows me that some things are healing. The things I want are possible. I’m claiming my happiness! I’m now in a place I NEVER thought I would be! To think and know that the steps I’ve taken into this new place started with a stroke leaves me...I don’t really have the words! Dumbfounded? Just blank-stare amazed! Sitting back watching my life take this new direction is something I never could’ve predicted. I mean, you have a stroke, and you focus on getting your brain as close to normal as possible. Not heal your spirit, and move into the possibilities of what your life can be; and maybe even walk into the beginning process of fulfilling your destiny. I’ve learned so many things about myself, and about God. I’m making it on 60% my past salary, and if that’s not a faith-builder, I don’t know what its!
I should be begging on street corners for money, but I promise
you that God has given me all that I need; and then some! I’m still in
therapy for the stroke, and for the first time ever, I am committed to the
betterment of MYSELF! Healing is NOT easy, but I know God holds me in His
hands through it all.
I’m not sure what to do with this particular piece, or even who
these words are for. God told me to share these words. He told me that
my blessings are tied to the words I’ve written. Hearing Him say that brings back
to mind a time in church that I went to the altar for prayer. This was in
2005 or 2006. As I kneeled, a pastor bent down and placed his hands on my
head to pray over me. As he started praying, tears rolled down his cheeks.
He told me I had many talents, and then he stopped to correct himself. He
said you have A TALENT, and one day your words will be he read and heard
in many homes all over the country. He continued to cry even after he was
done praying over me. I never forgot that prayer, but I don’t think I ever
really gave any serious thought to it until I started this healing
process. God also told me to remember that I as I wrote this, I
wouldn’t truly understand the blessings to come. He told me to watch and
wait. My gut tells me that my destiny is attached to my words. Everything
has happened for a reason. Even the stroke. I feel that God used it to
usher changes into my life. Changes I refused to even consider or reach
for. They say God works in mysterious ways, and sometimes the biggest blessings
stem from crushing situations in life. I guess time will tell. Amen.
ADDENDUM:
After writing this piece-and going through a myriad of emotions
- I had to take the time to absorb it until it was well with my spirit.
This healing has been/is nowhere close to easy, and it’s ongoing. It’s
been over a year of God being in my face, and on my case. I didn’t speak
much on the stroke itself or the daily effects I still deal with. I didn’t
mean to diminish the stroke. My short-term memory is pretty much
non-existent. I have days where I feel like a wanderer trying to find her
way with no clues, or signs. There are falls, light sensitivity, cognitive
problems, horrible headaches, dizziness, fatigue, depression, double
vision, and anxiety. I thought that after writing this, I’d be riled up,
and angry about all the emotions I had to touch on. Surprisingly, all I
feel is peace. My spirit is calming, and my vision is clearing. It feels
like the weight of the world lifted off of me, and that’s a serenity I
can’t put into words. This piece has been 50+ years in the making, and it
was the first time I’ve looked at my life with all the honesty I could
muster. Tears fall again as I write this, and I thank God for bringing me
to this point. He has watched over me, even when I might not have deserved
it. I’ve seen God bring people into my life, while at the same time
eliminate the wolves I didn’t have the sense enough to fear. I know He’s
setting me up for something big, but I have no clue what it is!
God chose me, saved me, watched me, and hasn’t let me out of
His sights. Then He told me little by little what He needs from me.
He brought to mind things I prayed for, but that I didn’t have the faith
to believe that I’d ever receive. He has shown me everything. Well, at
least all that He thinks I can deal with at this moment. I know there’s
more coming.
The reflection from the mirror of the past have haunted me my
whole life. I relied on other people to feed my spirit who I was instead
of digging deep to find the real truth of who and what I am. I reject
those reflections now. They were never really me. Only what happened to
me. The weight of it all was spirit-crushing. By sharing these words, the
past is crumbling, and I now get the opportunity to walk past it and
begin whatever my new life will be. I’m this imperfect masterpiece that
GOD HIMSELF felt was worthy enough to save. Yes, He saved me from
the stroke, but I’ve never lost sight of the fact that He saved me from
ME! I was damaged, reckless, and indifferent. I was abused, but I
alone continued the cycle by not even trying to help myself. For me, that
was the ultimate act of self-hate, and self-destruction. I took all of the
bad things that happened to me and said “fuck it. This is who and what I
am or will ever be”. Of course, I was wrong (as I often am). It literally
took an act of God to open my eyes. A...WHOLE...ACT...OF...GOD! My
hope in sharing this is two-fold. First off, please take your
health seriously. This means physical, mental, and spiritual! I read a
saying that goes: “The bitter heart eats it’s owner”. It stopped me in my
tracks, and I took time to let it sink in. Not taking care of yourself,
and holding onto your hurt will only hurt YOU. I learned that me not
taking care of myself allowed dysfunction on one level to feed into-and
on-the other levels. It was a vicious cycle that almost caused me to take
my life. The other things I want to emphasize is not to
just read these words. Let them roam around your spirit. If these words
don’t pertain to anything that you’ve experience in your life, know that
somebody you know and/or love has been through my same experience. If you
see yourself in my words-and have yet to get help-then please get help.
Forget that ‘what happens in this house stays in this house’ crap! Silence
kills. Forget the ‘you’re strong! Suck it up, you’ll be fine’ mess. Sigh...Please
walk away from that mindset or voice that speaks of being weak for you
wanting or needing to get help. Let that go! Healing is an act of bravery.
Believe me when I tell you that it’s not for the faint of heart. If your
past devours your spirit-and future-face that fact and start looking for
your help. If you feel that you can’t trust anybody, write your feelings
out. Not the dear-diary-today-was-a-bad-day type of thing. Write
truthfully! From your gut. God already knows how you feel anyway. Nothing
you say to Him will be a shock. Say...the...words!
I know there are blessings on the other side of all that I’ve
survived. I’m just waiting for them to manifest. I went to work on 3-3-20,
and I thought my life was over. Life on this side can be over in a second.
I know that in a whole new and personal way now. Your life is not
over, and you’re worthy of so many good things! Live this precious,
beautiful life that you were given! Honey, ride it ‘til the wheels fall
off!
All of the pain from the past; I release it from my spirit! I release these words I’ve written into the universe to do their job. I know these words were necessary for my healing, but I also believe there are many others who may need these words more than I did. While I wrote for myself, I also wrote for those who were unable to tell their truth. I wrote for those who were scared to start their own journey of healing. I wrote for those who believed all the horrible, untrue things that kept you from reaching out for help. I wrote for those who live in the shadow of who/what they should have and could have been, but for being abused. I know my words are not just for me. My life matters, and your lives damn sure matter, too! Don’t deny yourself the chance to sit in your own greatness. FIND YOUR PEACE, and LIVE YOUR LIFE! Thank you for reading my testimony. Blessing to you all.
© Antoinette Davis, 2020-2021
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