Ode to a Bruised Reed

A bruised reed he will not break,

and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out.

To my past self ....

 

I love you.

You were weak,
You were battered,
And your pain was unspeakable.
It's unspeakable still, and it lives on
In mind and body.

I suffer the pangs,
But I don't want to distance myself.
Instead, I want to wrap my arms around you,
Sink into your pain,
And whisper,

I love you.

I see you then,
Wild eyed, misery driven,
Desperately chasing the control
That escaped you utterly,
Until you lashed out at those you loved most.

I'm not ashamed of you.
Not anymore. 
Instead, I want to draw you into my lap,
Stroke your hair,
And murmur,

Shhh. I love you.

I remember you:
Tyrannized, leaden, hopeless.
In a fetal curl on the floor,
Drenched in suicidal darkness,
Wearing clothes that hadn't been washed in a month.

I feel your despair,
But I don't want to disconnect.
Instead, I want to lie close beside you,
Clasp your face in my hands,
And say,

Don't give up. I love you.

I love you just as you were
When life didn't seem worth living,
And you didn't feel capable of living it.
When abuse was all you knew,
And hope taunted like a desert mirage.

I love you just as you are—
A bruised reed,
Wounded but, by the grace of God,
Unbroken.

A bruised reed still anxiously imperfect,
Occasionally undisciplined,
Too often insular and self-absorbed.

Yet today, despite my flaws—
past and present—
I can say to myself,

I love you.

Radical Acceptance

I understand—and I think understanding is deeper than knowing—I can't go back and change what happened, to me or to you. 

But can I accept?

Easier, I believe, when I was Victim. 

The difficulty arises from those times when I was Perpetrator. Remembering, I hold self-hatred and regret tightly fisted. Can I let go of one and allow myself to feel the other? Accept that reasons aren't excuses, and neither can change what was?

Self-condemnation is ingrained (but "you have to be carefully taught"). Guilt has become my default, shame my secret sackcloth. But what purpose do they serve? Do they help or are they chains? Can I, should I, attempt a Houdini? Will I find some measure of peace and healing if I do?

(Even as I ask, a snide inner voice hisses, "Bitch, you don't get off that easily!")

Do I have the right to accept what you might never be able to? Not accept in the sense of being okay with what I did or saying it doesn't matter, but radically accept in the sense of it happened, it's done, it can't be changed—no judgment, for good or ill, tagged on. Simple acknowledgement, allowing myself to feel sadness and regret without grabbing hold and holding on.

Does acceptance mean accepting the fact that your wounds exist, that they continue to throb, often bleed, will sometimes bleed all over me? How do I accept the fact that you continue to suffer, and while I caused some of it, I can't change any of it? Nor can I prod you to.

Do compassion and radical acceptance mix? Can I recognize and empathize with your pain without resurrecting self-condemnation, once I manage (if I manage) to bury it? How do I accept and move on, but keep my heart soft?

Am I even remotely capable of that balance?

I suspect I have to try for it—despite the fact that I still don't completely get the concept, despite the fact that it doesn't strike me as quite fair—because not accepting and allowing myself to sink under the weight of guilt and shame and remorse (not that remorse is bad, but it can become a habitual, self-inflicted scourge) isn't doing either of us any good. Love tainted by a constant whiff of apology is fearful, small, and selfish.

Will my acceptance, and whatever good might come from it, ripple outward to you? Yeah, I know I can't expect that, let alone try for it, but maybe I can hope and pray.

I foresee an ongoing battle, God help me. (And I mean that last bit literally!) Hopefully, it will be one worth waging, because me beating this same dead horse is getting both you and me nowhere.