Healing from betrayal

Photo by Renato Danyi from PexelsI visited the killing fields in Cambodia, just outside Phnom Penh. It is so terrible that what happened there. There are no words. I think people should know about it but I don’t have the words to tell it.

A while ago, the area was excavated and they dug up all the bones they could find. They filled a huge tomb with them. Go see it if you can, it’s important.

One thing I learned while I was there is how bones still work their way to the surface of the fields. Small fragments, anyway. The ground swells and heaves between the rainy and dry seasons. Less dense than soil particles, the bones are pushed up. One day there will just be bone fragments lying on the surface where there weren’t any the day before.

This is my experience of healing from betrayal. Fragments come up. Sometimes nothing is at the surface, sometimes they appear.

How long will they keep surfacing? Will they be all gone some day? Will they all have heaved through? Will the depths give up all those painful shards?

I am impatient with the process. I want to be a good girl and get over it. I don’t want my failure to heal to be holding things back.

Of course that’s not how it is. I didn’t create this. And I don’t have to get over it right away.

I guess I just want to know what’s on the other side. Is there another side? Will I get there? Just tell me if I’ll get there and I’ll be patient, I promise. I can be patient. But I’m not so good with not knowing.

I want to get on with life. Sometimes I wonder if I can ever trust again. Or if it’s even a good idea.

For tiny flashes of time, I am devastated that everything has been wrecked and I feel hopeless about rebuilding. Then I ask myself if I’m being overly dramatic. Then I ask myself if I’m being cruel to my inner child, accusing her of being dramatic – minimizing and invalidating her feelings. Then I notice I’m in my head about it, probably not feeling anything. I have to get through the feeling but of course I don’t want to. Feeling is awful sometimes, and I’m scared of what I might find. I’m scared of what the answer might be.

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