Broken Dolls

Broken Dolls

As some of you know, I and Selene were the victims of a hit-and-run in August of 2017. About 6 months ago, now.

Wow!

I hadn’t realized the time.

Yikes.

If you don’t know details and you want them, they are here.

Anyway, I was wearing a necklace that I’ve had for years. I’ve always loved this necklace, from the first moment I laid eyes on her, and I immediately bought her and I was so thrilled.

My ex-husband hated her and thought she was creepy. I still loved her, and, eventually as our relationship soured, I used her as a bit of a “fuck you,” when I wore her.

Not my finest hour (years, really, but who’s counting?). I know.

After the accident, she was horribly twisted and bent where the impact of the airbag had hit me, and her hand had come off completely, the loop holding it onto the arm broken.

I kept her, because I wanted to hope that she could be healed.

And so, she lay, broken and mangled on my vanity. I’d look at her, and see the wreckage, and it hurt my heart, even as I was healing physically, much more slowly than I wanted, and WAY more slowly than I would admit, to anyone—even myself.

I was cleared to get back to the gym in November. And I went.

But I hurt more. And not just in good muscle-y ways, but in HURT ways.

My breath capacity was still fucked from the steroids. I felt like my exertional asthma was 10x worse. I pushed myself, because I didn’t know what else to do.

In January, I told myself I was healed. Everyone else assumed I was healed, because, why wouldn’t I be? We drove to Nashville to visit a friend and practice hypnosis to prepare for my travel to Thailand. On that drive, I had visions of accidents out of our control over and over.

  • Skidding and going through a railing, off the mountain.
  • Other cars skidding into us.
  • Deer jumping onto the road in front of us.
  • Lot of unformed, dreading thoughts.

And, of course…

  • A car hitting us and leaving. Again.

I was not healed. I was so very not healed. My body was trying so hard to get better, but my head was holding me back.

And this was the first I really knew of it.

Once I recognized that I was traumatized, I realized that I was hurting from the crash. That I was worried I would not recover fully, that I might be damaged permanently.

I needed to realize that to let it go.

And, perfect timing, I went to Thailand the next weekend for just over two weeks.

I was in a different place, a different culture, and I HAD to change, at least temporarily, to survive. It was a pattern break. And we did a lot of self-work in the first seminar, clearing things out, to make room for new, better people to take our places.

And I came back feeling mentally better.

And got the flu.

For 1 1/2 weeks.

I had a terrible night with chills and vertigo and nausea, then woke up the next day and rearranged the furniture in my room, reorganized things, cleaned, and planned to get back to the gym (as soon as I was sure I was no longer contagious).

And I felt better!

But, my sweet girl was still troubled and torn. So this Wednesday, I sat down to save her life as well. It was touch and go. I bent her misshapen body back into shape (I didn’t think to document the process until she was mostly straight again, but she looked a bit like a very crooked attempt at a bottlecap rotini).

I also performed a successful surgery on her wrist. It’s not as flexible as it used to be, since the loop had broken, and I had to drill through her hand to attach, but she looks happy and well again, and I feel that way.

The broken dolls have healed.

I don’t share a lot about my personal life, especially as it’s happening. Partially because I tend to be a private person in a lot of ways, and also because I figure most people don’t care unless it could be applied to their life.

And I get that. In this case, I wanted to share something that I didn’t even know was hurting me for six weeks because no one else really knew it was hurting me, either. Not necessarily because I hid it from them (although I did, in some cases), but because I hid it from myself. My mind chose to wait until I was strong enough to reveal the depth of damage I’d experienced.

And I LOOKED NORMAL to most people, including me, mostly.

I know those of you with invisible illnesses and injuries will understand this. Better than I, as my experience is not chronic and ongoing, but I wanted to share in case others may not understand their friends’ or their own inability to move on or recover quickly from a curveball, even when they want to, badly, and know that not all hurts are visible, or even recognized.

FWIW

And, if you’ve read all this, thank you for sharing my journey. I appreciate you.

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