Battle Wounds.

Everyone’s been asked some form of this question: “Where were you when…

…President Kennedy was assassinated?
…the planes hit the World Trade Center?
…your spouse asked you to marry them?”

All of us can recall these heart-stopping moments; the personal, the emotional, the patriotic. I can remember very clearly both times I found out my husband was going into emergency surgery. {Never a good idea to try to continue your yoga class after that phone call, folks. All the meditation in the world can’t help you.} I remember where I was, down to every single detail, when I found out my niece had passed away. {Bleachers of my high school pool; I knew something wasn’t right when my mom missed my first home swim meet that season.} I remember with crystal clarity the moment Tom received the phone call officially inviting him to California {2 am, CST, the night before Christmas Eve.}

I think in the moments of uncertainty, when your world is rocked and your bones are jarred, there are two types of people: those who look forward and do their best to right themselves, and those that sink into the spinning with self-pity.

Out of many of these moments, even the ones that bring despair and heart-wrenching grief, there is always something positive to recognize. Disorder and chaos can birth some of the greatest joys, failure and rejection can raise the fiercest of passions, pain can breed appreciation and gratitude.

This blog is me, whole and unabridged, unfiltered and raw. My emotions live here, snaking across the page in black and white, a constant reminder of what I feel and how deep I feel it. In “real life,” however, I have a bit of a reputation as an ice queen, someone who is quick to numb themselves from the situation, coolly and brusquely plowing through a problem. The reality is that despite my appearance, I observe, feel, embed, and over think every detail of a situation, from the words that were uttered to the tone that shrouded it, and everything in-between. I replay scenes in my head, a Nancy Drew hunting for meaning behind words and actions. I watch conversations unfold in my mind over and over, analyzing and over-analyzing, until I’m so wired that I’m exhausted and can sleep for eight hours uninterrupted. Tonight, I am fired up. Tonight, the ice queen is not here. Tonight, I am feeling the hot burn of painful memories, ripped open with new weapons.

Tonight, I will vividly remember for years to come, just like I remember that night in December of 2008, and the sunny afternoon in April 2007. To you, they might mean nothing. To me, they were everything, and I have the scars to prove it.

Please choose to be the person that looks for the silver lining. Please choose your words carefully. They could mean the world to someone, and you might not even know it.

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2 thoughts on “Battle Wounds.

  1. Gail Helm-Sroka says:

    This is your best. I love what it says and I think it hits home. I know that I have said this before and I will say it again, you are a wonderful writer and I love reading your words. They are so true and profound for one so young.

  2. […] you find tiny, sharp shards embedded in your heart for a long time. That’s where I was when I wrote this. I found myself re-examining old wounds that I thought were free of debris and […]

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