We were driving into Colorado on our big cross-country move in 2006 when “I Hope You Dance” came on the radio. I remember the timing of the song bringing tears to my eyes.
We were taking a leap of faith, moving away from our lives in the south. The truth is, though, we were essentially running away from home. A new setting would surely change things.
It did, of course.
But it also didn’t.
While it was very beneficial to move away from the place where tragedy changed our lives, where I could easily be triggered by the simple passing of a location that I couldn’t avoid, it also did not fix the pain. Sure, I was no longer afraid of running into past in-laws when I shopped, but their voices came with me anyway.
The scenery changed but the scars remained.
In 2006, I was still six years away from really starting my healing journey. In 2006, I had hope that I was all better because I had stuffed all my pain deep down into my soul. In 2006, I thought everything that wasn’t stuffed away was successfully handled through my writing (ha).
Before we packed three kids, a dog, a cat, and everything we could fit into a U-haul and our minivan, my husband dug a small hole for me and I burned my memoir in the same Georgia dirt where my life had changed. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, that part of my life burned away.
Success!
Oh the things we do to avoid the actual work of peeling back layers and processing pain. Sweet younger me. She didn’t know. Not yet.
She didn’t know that just crossing state lines to a timely song wouldn’t fix it all.
Wherever you go, there you are. Isn’t that why they say? The thought might be about mindfulness, but so it also goes for your experiences, the good and the bad. Left unprocessed and unhealed, they will be the baggage you cannot release. The doom boxes of the mind.
The song has never left me, though. And one day, I did start the healing journey. It was not dance-worthy at the time. It was ugly. It was paralyzing. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do. Sometimes the hardest thing I am still doing.
I have quit and returned, quit and returned, sure that I was never getting anywhere. That’s how it goes. It’s hard to see your progress when you’re in the middle of the journey, and yet one day you notice you feel differently. One day, for example, you pick up the phone and make a call to literally anyone without first writing a script. You hang up and realize you aren’t drenched in sweat.
Huh. That just happened.
I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance,
-Lee Ann Womack, I hope you dance
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Because I stopped settling for the path of least resistance, I have danced my way to a very healthy place since our move to these mountains.
Even better, I have danced at my children’s weddings. I have danced with five grandchildren. I have spun around alone to my own celebratory dance parties. (I even took a belly dancing class once and danced in a restaurant with my instructor.) I have physically danced because I accepted the opportunity to heal.
I am dancing into a new year even as the world continues to spin in chaos, even as fires burn around me in Colorado, even as I can feel the heaviness of it all, even as…this just in: the great Betty White has died…because life remains beautifully hard. I can only keep pressing on, leaning into what is in my control. I can heal. I can sing. I can speak truth into the dark places.
And I can dance.
I hope you dance, too.
If you’re just joining me: I’m a survivor of complex trauma and am on my healing journey. I share openly and candidly of my experiences with child abuse, neglect, sexual assault, teen pregnancy (and teen marriage), domestic violence, and all the complicated living that comes with it, alongside the beauty that is life. This whole blog comes with a TRIGGER WARNING. Almost everything I share is pretty much stream of consciousness writing. I am not a doctor or counselor (but I am a trauma informed coach and advocate). What’s with the tiara? Watch This!
