TRIGGER WARNING: This is sensitive material. If you or someone you know has experienced rape or physical assault and you are in recovery, this may not be appropriate.
My glorious BFF gifted me with a treat unlike most treats. Bath Oils. She knows that I have an auto-immune disease: Myalgic encephalomyelitis/chronic fatigue syndrome (ME/CFS) is what they've diagnosed me with. Among a plethora of blah blah blah and I am one of those folks who refuses to succumb to the plethora of pills that tend to follow the line of "blah blah blah". Please don't misunderstand me, I'm all for better living through pharmaceuticals. God knows that when I've been in pain from surgery or recovering from a temporary illness, I've indulged.
Knowing that someone requires "special handling" is a great part of friendship. She can't have anything with booze or dairy and I'm one hell of a chef. She presents me with cooking challenges I embrace during the holidaze. Stay tuned for blahgs of cooking endeavors in the future, but for now, let's embrace this thought process of my bathing with gratitude, because my friend knows my skin will become a rash nightmare should it touch something foreign.
When the Big Guy and I bought this house, we realized that the bathrooms seemed to have been an afterthought. All three bathrooms could fit into my bedroom closet. I'm only sort of joking. We set out to create my little oasis by having a soaking tub shipped from Italy that would fit the hall closet/bathroom. Take a look at that tiny space, and how we made it beautiful!
If that sounds expensive, well... it kind of was. But we found a guy who was having a bunch of stuff brought from overseas to the United States, and it was worth the five month wait. When my little tub arrived, they put it in the middle of our unfinished living area and I sat in it. Oddly enough, we do have that moment on record! You cannot see that my calves and feet are nowhere near capable of this 5'9" frame to actually FIT inside without doing a pretzel. That's an esoteric new Yoga Move. I just made it up.
Let's fast forward a good ten years to my sitting in the tub last night, with my fancy new bath oils and sinking into water that I realized was "a bit too hot". So I did the "stand up" ouch/hot ouch/hot marching movement (also a new Yoga pose, don't try it) until the water was relatively not molten lava.
It was then, I had a memory.
Not a good one.
The first time I was raped at the age of eleven, I sat in a bath filled with hot water. My knees up to my chest and hoped that the vile incident would be boiled off of me. I remembered scrubbing myself until my legs bled like the rest of me felt was bleeding.
Keep in mind that I have bathed since I was eleven. Many hundreds of times, in fact. Yet, this memory had never surfaced. Not as clear, not as vivid and not as "detached" as this one.
As you can well imagine, there was a moment, last night, where I did have to do a "spot check" on my psyche.
Am I okay?
Am I going to have a panic attack?
Am I going to be able to get out of this tub and live the rest of my life?
I realized that the final thought of "Am I going to be able to get out of this tub and live the rest of my life" was the thought I had as a child.
My eyes rested on the insert that came with one of the bath oils. I had chosen "Intrinsic" as my scent for relaxing. I reached out and picked it up while I was still in the tub. Remember, the bathroom is tiny, I could reach it.
Somehow, through the water and the years, I reached out and picked up my inner child too, and told her that she was indeed, going to be able to get out of that bathtub and live the rest of her life. "Trust yourself" I whispered to her, "and be true to yourself, because the world needs you. There should never be a first time for rape. But for you, there is. And for others too. Remind them that they can get out and live. That they will be alright. With time. If they allow it."
I'm currently in the process of finishing the equivalent of my Masters Degree with the Heart/Math Institute in becoming a trauma recovery specialist, and my ministry, The White Light Express, has reached thousands of people in crisis. I pray that it will reach thousands more. I've counseled hundreds of people through their horrific and criminal events.
The person who violated me told me that I was nothing, and no one.
Last night, I laughed, albeit a tad bitterly, at the words he said. It's been decades since I could honestly do that without finding myself in a self destructive and somewhat fetal position.
Today, I will go back to editing my latest oracle deck, Spiritus Mundi and continue writing words of recovery, restoration and renewal. Thank you for being here, and for being. You are not alone.
If you or someone you know has been harmed, there is help.
National Sexual Assault Hotline (United States)
Hours: Available 24 hours
1-800-656-4673