Its raining. It is quiet and peaceful, and I have decided I just simply cannot stay in bed any longer. Not that I plan to leave the house at all today – not at all, this is eight hours of precious, precious me time, and I desperately need it to regroup and regather today. It is 8am, there is nothing on TV so a pre recorded ‘I survived” gets put on. Stories of people who have survived such horrible, unimaginable situations that you would only ever read about in a newspaper or see on tv. A lot of whom thought they would never get out to tell their stories, some of whom audaciously say ‘ I always knew I wasn’t going to die. I just knew.’
At first I scoff… who on earth knows that. How can you just know? Is that fear speaking? Refusal to believe what the present reality tells you loud and clear? Arrogance? Or, simply the quiet whisper, the recognition that it is simply not your time and you just know some miracle will set you free – despite what the present reality is trying to shout over that whisper.
A few weeks ago a quiet decision was made. To start to focus on being the positive – because so often the quiet whispers of compliments were so severely drowned out by the negative. The good that I knew I was doing, was so drowned out by the ‘not enoughs’ that I felt like I was treading water. Just a quiet whisper, ‘ darling, write it down, write at least one compliment that you get each day down in that diary’. Meh, no harm, how easy could it be.
Then another, quiet, wary whisper the recognition that things were getting better, things had been calm and fine for ‘too long’. Writing it off as paranoia, anxiety… don’t be stupid, things are allowed to be flatlining. Its better than the vicious up and downs, No? Regrouping, joining together with wonderful, amazing, strong colleagues. Collective decisions to be more positive, focus on the positive, not speak the negatives. Visual aids were everywhere.
The tsunami of horrible, cruel, hurtful words.
The torrent of words and righteous anger, albeit completely misdirected. The look of shock on faces of onlookers. The fight to stay calm, to keep my voice low and even amidst the rising tones, to keep it together just for a few more minutes. To not defend, or enter into this – to remember, this was not about me, i had done nothing wrong.
Over a number of days. I’d just begin to feel like I believed that truth, maybe, and then another wave. And I’d rise again, floundering, trying to laugh, trying to listen to the voices of support. The kindness. The people who knew me, better than anyone else. Trying, trying. But, oh my head, and its voices, and those words. oh.
And I remembered that quiet whisper… and I read, and read, and read all of those compliments. Those quiet voices, those cheerleaders. The solid, tangible evidence, the numbers, the smiles. The proof that my mind could not argue with, i had done nothing wrong, this was never about me. As cruel, and horrible as those words were, they were easier to make louder than those soft, quiet truths.
Those quiet whispers always come.
They are easy to miss, easy to write off… easy to get lost in the whirlwind of my thoughts.
But they are always my evidence, that everything is going to be alright. That I am fine.
< a timely prompt for the fresh horses brigade with Eden this week… timely. Another funny quiet whisper, that I wasn’t going to miss for the world. >