This Tuesday, I went in and opened an old wound. On purpose.
Seventeen years ago, I was in a car accident because I gave up my power. I let someone drive a car I had rented, even though it was a bad idea. Many months of physical therapy, thousands of dollars, and lots and lots and lots of healing later, I let a doctor (ok, not just any doctor, he is truly one of The Best in New York) go in, clean it out, and set it right.
For me it has been –and is– terrifying: I nearly passed out in fear yesterday when he simply cleaned my wounds. And it’s sad: as we prepared to check and clean it, I started crying. “What kind of a girl does this to herself?” I kept asking myself? Who invites pain in?
I do. With the immeasurable support of a man who constantly helps me find my voice and own my power. With family who sends flowers and offers any kind of help I could need. With friends who gently remind me “It will be okay” through my tears.
Sitting here in bed, with my Guggenheim-esque cast on, ordered to take it easy and let. others. help., I have a lot to be thankful for.