Something inside of me snapped. I’m not sure what it was because I’m still completely numb. People are asking questions. People are reaching out. People in my real life are telling me they care. This feeling is so foreign and I’m not sure I’m comfortable with it. My daughter was given a beautiful quilt today at church. I had conversation with other women who also struggle to get dinner on the table, and who can’t sing, and who can’t sew. For the first time, it felt like there might be a small place in my church where I belong… And I don’t like this feeling. I am used to being the quiet one who is overlooked and often unintentionally ignored. I don’t like speaking out and I hate answering questions. I don’t like being called “strong” and “courageous” for speaking out against generational cycles. I don’t even want to speak, I want to hide in the corner. I am finding myself on the verge of retreating completely, of shutting down, of removing myself from all social interaction in order to survive. I am much safer when I’m not in the center of attention. I find myself desperately seeking my unhealthy coping skills in order to quickly feel like myself again. I want to continue to feel safe in my unsafe and scared world. There is a part of me that does not want to heal because it’s not comfortable. I hate change but it’s happening anyway; good change or bad change, I’m not sure. Probably a little of both. Against my will. Hopefully when (read: if) I come out on the other side, kicking and screaming against my will, I will open my eyes and see flowers, green grass, and sunlight. Only when I am sure I can stand on firm ground will I feel safe enough to venture from this box I have created for myself; a box chained and locked and thrown overboard so that nobody can find me. Only there am I safe.