They say the healing journey isn't linear, and I've found that to be so true!
I've reached Stage 6 on the Healing Journey from Emotional Abuse. Stage Six is described as "turning the corner," and I feel...unsettled. It's a strange mix of relief and a nagging anxiety, like I'm forgetting something important.
Then it hit me. For so long, my life revolved around managing Rageroo's moods. Walking on eggshells, anticipating his blow-ups, sacrificing my own needs to keep the peace – it became my exhausting routine. I forgot what it means to simply be.
Reclaiming My Emotional Landscape
Now that Rageroo is out of the picture, I have the incredible opportunity to rediscover myself. This means learning to manage my own moods, to understand my emotions, and to honor my needs without fear or guilt. No more suppressing myself for the sake of a narcissistic partner!
This stage might feel unsettling at first. It's like learning to walk again after a long injury. But with each step, I'm getting stronger, more confident, and closer to the person I truly am.
Are you on the healing journey too? Share your experiences in the comments below! We can support each other as we reclaim our lives and rediscover ourselves.
The fog was lifting, but tendrils clung stubbornly to the edges of my mind. Stage six, they called it - turning the corner. Yet, a disquiet hummed beneath the surface, a forgotten melody nagging at the back of my skull.
It wasn't grief, not exactly. The storm had passed, leaving behind a bruised sky and a raw ache in my chest. But something else lingered, a restless ghost in the halls of my life.
Then, with a jolt, it hit me. For so long, I'd been a marionette, dancing to the whims of a puppeteer with a cruel streak. Rageroo, his name echoed in the emptiness, a name that tasted like ash and regret. Every twitch of his emotional weather had dictated my movements, a constant storm I was forced to weather.
Living for myself, simply being - the thought felt alien, a forgotten language on the tip of my tongue. My needs, my desires, buried beneath a mountain of eggshells and unspoken anxieties.
It's a strange thing, this rediscovery of self. Like a muscle long unused, it aches with the first tentative steps. But with each beat of my own heart, with each breath I take for myself, a flicker of something familiar stirs. It's the ghost of laughter, the echo of a dream, the forgotten melody of who I truly am.
The path ahead is uncertain, shrouded in the same fog that has just lifted. But for the first time, I see a sliver of sunlight breaking through. I am no longer tethered to the storm. I can learn to weather my own downpours, bask in my own sunshine, and dance to the rhythm of my own beating heart.
This is the story I'm writing now, a tale not dictated by another, but penned with the ink of self-discovery. The ending is unwritten, but the first chapter whispers of hope, of resilience, and of a woman finally finding her way back to herself.