Hello. I wrote the piece below during a fleeting moment on a Monday. It feels very odd and raw to share, although it helped me soothe in the moment. I don’t know if the grammar is perfect. I’m really not to sure the thoughts make complete sense. Here I am, sharing it. I hope for something?
Body anxiety. I’m composed. No you are not, says’ my body anxiety. This ache I feel through my arms that lingers in my chest. I’m composed, my mind confirms. No you’re not, re-affirms my body. It is here that a person enters to calm it all. Body and mind. Connection is beautiful in this moment. Unexpected. Received. Healing wounds that another has caused. Wounds they never saw. Wounds they never heard because they sat quietly. They sit quietly. Does it make me a quiet person, if my wounds are silent? Does it make me a push-over? Do I seem weak? Does it matter? Why do I long for them to be heard without screaming?
I like being a quiet person. I’m really just writing here. There is no end I want to reach. As I write, I feel I want to emphasise the people who can hear my silent wounds. How lovely of them. How beautiful of them. How comforting and rare. Something I will hold on too tight. I only realise the depth of their hug, when compared to the moments where my wounds go unnoticed. My composed nature is mistaken for having it all together.
How do they hear?
Usually they are also quiet people. They’re not talking. Holding space in the silence. Holding space in the time you do choose to open a wound. You trust them in that moment. In the past, making the mistake to open wounds to people who pour gasoline over it. It’s scary grounds. They surprise you. Body anxiety responds with a wave of calm. The lingering ache feels a little less. Your mind connects with your body.
It’s okay, they say.
You’re okay, they say.
Sometimes you feel it. They don’t really have to say anything except extend a hand, a touch, a smile.
They go on to prove that comfort in other ways. For a long time? Something I wouldn’t know. Although the solace of the moment is enough to carry me.
Christiana