There are moments that take us out of ourselves.
Moments that break trust in someone we loved or in our own ability to keep ourselves safe.
Betrayal doesn't always scream,
Sometimes it whispers in the dark.
Sometimes it comes with kindness and leaves confusion in its place,
But always it leaves the body changed.
Little more quiet,
A little more guarded,
A little more alone or maybe just a little more knowing.
If you are here,
You may be wondering how to return to yourself,
To the place inside you that used to feel like home.
You may be wondering how to touch your skin without remembering,
How to feel desire without dread,
How to hear your yes again without fear of getting it wrong.
There is no rush green one,
There is no timeline,
There is only the slow miraculous work of re-weaving your threads from the inside out.
Now let's begin not with effort,
But with acknowledging.
Place your hand somewhere safe on your body,
Somewhere that feels honest.
If no place feels safe green one,
Place your hand on the ground and let your hand be soft.
Now repeat to yourself,
I haven't forgotten you,
And stay here a moment.
There is a way the coral and the ocean heals itself after it's broken.
It does not rush,
It does not reach for beauty,
It begins in silence,
Knitting itself back together,
Cell by living cell,
From the inside out,
And it does so only when the water is warm again,
When the conditions are kind.
So if your healing has been slow,
If your body still tenses at a name,
A memory,
A certain kind of breath or sound,
Know this,
You are coral,
You are waiting for warmth.
In betrayal we often stop listening to the body because it didn't stop what was coming towards us.
We blame it for not warning us louder.
We feel shame for what it felt or what it didn't feel in the moment.
We begin to live hovering above ourselves,
Performing safety,
Performing pleasure,
Hoping to outrun the rupture,
That the only way back,
Green one,
Is down,
Into soil and skin and breath,
Into the quiet places that still carry the scar.
Breathe slowly now,
And on your next inhale,
I want you to say to yourself,
This is me.
I am here.
This is me.
This is me.
I am here.
Your body is a vast and beautiful landscape that is growing its roots underground,
Beneath the soil.
Your goal is to not force something to grow that is not ready to grow.
Your goal is presence,
Relationship with your body and yourself.
You do not owe anyone your full return.
You can stay here,
Hand to skin or ground,
And say,
This is mine.
Even after everything,
This body is still mine,
And rebuilding is happening in my quiet,
In my breath,
In my pause.
Desire will return,
Like warmth spreading slowly through wintered roots.
Let this be your thawing.
Let it take as long as it takes.
