Once I went to a candlelight vigil for survivors of rape, sexual abuse, and domestic violence. It was powerful in ways that I can't put into words, men and women holding white candles sharing stories and tears. Only four months gone from from my own hurt, still needing pills to make it through the daily heart squeezing panic attacks, I sobbed with my head on a friend's shoulder.
Somehow something overtook me and I shared my own story. Or I tried. I mostly choked words out through sobs and said how it'd only been four months and how I was so scared all of the time, scared of the dark, of men, of my own shadow, but everyone's stories gave me such strength.
The vigil finished and a girl came up to me. She told me that she was a rape survivor, too, and she'd never told anyone. She thanked me for my bravery, for showing her that it was okay to speak. And then, we held each other and cried on the shoulder of a stranger. It was only a few minutes. I didn't ask her name, she didn't ask mine. We never saw each other again, but in those few minutes, we shared a moment more intimate than most of will ever share with best of friends. Every so often, she crosses my mind and I pray that she made it through the pain.
This is the intense power of the human spirit, made of thin glass and bordering on fragility. We can be hurt. We can be broken, badly. We can be violated in the worst ways imaginable, bruised and left feeling so dirty that all the scalding hot water in the world will never fix us. But somewhere in the deepest corners of our hearts and spirits, we cannot be broken beyond repair.
Linking again to Heather of the EO's Just Write. Take a moment to read her words. You won't regret it.