She came to , with her face in the dirt and grass. The smell of the earth brought her back from where she was. Pain she suffered, in places she never knew could hurt like that, then quickly she passed out again…with her pants tangled around her ankles.
Flash back to her biological father, whom she had only met twice. He died, and by the time she found the courage to find him he was already gone. She had no family to take care of her 15 year old self. So she went numb. Her physical body was searching for love and approval of those around her. She was treading water and not very well. A fighter though, at heart, she will survive. She just didn’t know it at the time.
She wakes again, now on a hospital gurney, throwing up her anger. Her spirit full of fire, for being treated like the dirt he left her in. She raged but didn’t know why and passed out again. Her black outs seem to be a lifetime. She woke on her uncles couch with vomit in her hair and pain where she sat. It was a mystery how she got there but the internal embarrassment, shame and anger was just under her surface. This girl was raw. Too raw to be cared for. Nobody cared anyway. Nobody brushed her off, got her cleaned up and fed her under their roof. She did it herself.
She got dropped at her hole in the wall studio apartment. Memory of what happened was sporadic at best. She hurt to her core, but had no choice other than to carry on. Lost in the aftermath was her purse, which told people who she was. That night started with shots of tequila with a close friend. The spirited young girls set off to wander the streets of their little world. What a small world it was. A town of turbulence and chaos. Where it was all too easy to get lost in booze and drugs. A town where nobody reached out to those who needed help like she did. The freedom of the streets that night created a prison for her for many years to come. The man that forced himself inside of her troubled young body will never know what he took from her.
Flash back to the school she tried to attend to get her diploma. She had always wanted to go to school, to college, to be so much more than what seemed to be expected of her. The police showed up with her purse. They questioned her, but because of shame and blacking out she couldn’t or wouldn’t admit to anything. She didn’t know how her purse ended up in that backyard. It had been her guttural screams that woke the people who owned that back yard. The whimper’s and cries of a soldier down. She was found in a way that no girl or person for that matter should be found.
Flash forward to people now looking at her differently. Did they know? If so how did they know? She was now, not who she set out to be, but who her environment molded her into. She was still a warrior, a fighter. The only thing that kept her going was the anger and hurt that burned inside her. How did it come to be this way for her?
Again flash forward to her working hard and living in a whole new town. Bigger, more forward thinkers. She could make it in the bigger town. The festering wound that had been created showed itself in another way. An illness in the very spot she was wounded. It followed her. She was still only a hurt girl making the decisions of a woman twice her age. He took away her ability to ever have a family of her own. That’s right, remove her right to bare children. Because why? She didn’t know.
Flash forward to the adult woman who fought her way through, to a more healing time. A time of release and forgiveness. The reasons why no longer mattered to her. The events that brought her child self to be violently planted face in the dirt no longer defined who she was. The anger and hurt of the past created the shield that she needed. Now the memories are there for her as a reminder of her will to survive. Like a book she can pull them off of the shelf read through them appreciate what they are and put them back where she found them.
All of the battles that tried to snuff her out never succeeded, in the end, she was the victor. She can view the battle not as a victim but as a warrior who learned to heal the wounds of the past and embrace the scars that tell the story. Her story.
Even though its her story, she is a part of us as women. Let us learn from her to reach out to those who we see riddled in fear and anger. Let us not forget when we see them to ask “can I help you?” . Pay better attention to those that need help but for whatever reason cant ask.