Happy Six Years! I’m sitting on a farm in the mountains of New York amongst the flowers and reflecting on the recent remark I’ve made that year six has felt the most progressive in my healing journey thus far. Maybe I feel that because I’ve settled into my rehab routine and maintenance, or because my vision (one of the things I’ve been most insecure about since the attack) is finally being addressed. Maybe I feel that because I’ve graduated from the care of so many of my medical friends, or because I’ve finally reclaimed so many memories that I feel not just connected to her, but that she’s meeting me somewhere inside. Maybe I feel that because I’ve gained more independence and begun to live this life in ways that feel more like my choice. Maybe I feel that because Botox treatments have given me relief enough to do so. Maybe none of this is fair to the me who has fought every day of each year since the attack and progressed throughout. The rooster is calling out and I’m catching first light from my tent now. Year six has been a year of realigning and reclaiming. It has been a year of, “I’m proud of you,” and “Do you remember me,” and “I love you,” and “Do you realize not everybody can do this,” and “I’m sorry, I should have been there,” and “I’m here to love you through it,” and “Let me show up for you,” and “How can I best support you?” It has been the year of the leap of faith further into myself and into this wild world and into what feels good. It has been the year of finally recognizing what feels good. It has been the year of being just a little less angry. It has been the year of being just a little more happy to be here. I’m sitting on a log now and everybody is sleeping and a doe just wandered up about 30 yards away and the fog is literally clearing before me and I think year six was the start of choosing peace. Year six was hearing myself. Year six was learning to trust myself. Year six was healing enough to love me. I’m worthy of love, I’m worthy of peace, I’m worthy of choosing me. So, six years ago I was taken. Six years ago a life was taken. I feel like I’ve finally started to take it back. Long story short, I survived. Happy 6 Years to me, to my mother, to my littles, to my chosen family, to my support system of Dear Ones who have loved me so well that I find myself here. We’re still here. Happy Survival Day!
Getting Good at Running Away 