The Hollow Place

pencil drawing – by Sara

There is a hollow place that finds me. It knows me by name. Its reach can cover any distance I travel. Its strength can multiply, creeping and surrounding me as it wishes.

There is a hollow place that hunts me. It lurks and stalks and waits for the prime moment to pounce. Its jagged grip pierces and swallows upon contact, making it hard to distinguish where my body ends and its darkness begins.

There is a hollow place that seeks my surrender. Its isolating presence, although ominous and layered with pain, is familiar to me. Its constant company tries to convince me that my efforts to evade its grip are insufficient.

There is a hollow place that believes it has already won. It feels rooted inside of me. Can I possibly convince it that there is still fight left in me? Can I convince myself?

The Scrappy Warrior

pencil drawing – by Sara

The messages she carries try to convince her that her home is in the darkness that surrounds her and seems to know how to steadily lurk just one step ahead of her. It makes it hard for her to maintain traction on where or even who she is. Yet something inside urges her to focus beyond the darkness – beyond the pain and strain of what pulls at her – and fight like hell to somehow reach the light.

Lessons From The Body

We all have memories tied to different sensory experiences. The sight, sound, or smell of something can take us on a ride back to a memory that left a lasting impression. This is a gift when we are reminded of a loved one or of an experience we wish to treasure in our heart forever. Yet it is a curse when these experiences are attached to memories we wish to forget. In these moments we are swept up from safety and thrown back into the grip of despair – all in response to a simple benign sensory experience that enters our awareness.

In my teen years I was routinely sexually abused by my high school coach. The vast majority of these experiences of abuse occurred in his car. It was through his calculating planning of offering me a ride home from practice that he found opportunities to hurt me. He regularly found new secluded places to park his car away from the eyes of bystanders in order to take what he wanted from me. To this day, the sight of a car parked discretely away from others or with the windows blocked in some way elicits a strong feeling within me. When I first started acknowledging and speaking about my abuse these responses overwhelmed me. I could feel my heart pounding and this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that held this toxic concoction of fear, pain, disgust, and shame. I didn’t know what to do with these feelings so I would quietly hold and stuff the panic deep down inside of me. With the help of therapy I have since then learned to safely process and move through these experiences more effectively. Now when I see a parked car that triggers this nervous or panicky feeling I can both acknowledge the triggered parts of me and keep myself grounded in the safety of the present. Quietly to myself I can say words like, “of course that is scary to see”, followed by words like, “but it is just a car and you are safe now.” I don’t know that I will ever be free of these triggering moments, but by learning to safely move through them I can keep myself from being entirely swept away into the horrors of the past.

Recently, while working with my therapist, I have noticed a desire to physically “get small” when difficult feelings arise inside of me. At first this felt like a very natural, comforting, and self protective response for me – to tuck my legs in close and wrap my arms around them squeezing my body into the smallest space it can occupy. I have been expressing myself this way through art for as long as I can remember. It feels like home.

Yet in my therapist’s office, each time I allow my body to move into this position it desires, I feel an immediate sensation of relief and comfort followed by a barrage of memories of where the need for this position first emerged. These memories contain moments immediately after being abused when I would curl up my naked body and weep. So here I am in the present day trying to provide physical comfort to my body in the safe presence of my therapist, but the position I default to is one attached to trauma. It’s no wonder I can’t seem to stay present once I allow myself to move into this curled up position. I am instead swept away to a time of complete powerlessness.

Much like I learned how to safely respond to the sight of parked cars, I need to learn how to offer my body a new feeling of physical comfort. I need to learn to identify when my body wants to get small and begin to learn from it. What am I feeling inside that signals this need? Why does it feel that need right now? How else can I soothe this ache from within? Perhaps through careful curiosity I will uncover new ways to help my body feel safe today.

Self Care

I chase my hurt away
one stroke at a time
across the inviting canvas

Moving my brush
with enough intention
precision and speed
to evade the grip
of what claws at me
from deep within

Immersed in the colors
contours and textures
I welcome this ride
of fleeting freedom

A gift of escape
without the strings
attached to my other
less desirable choices

The Grip of Betrayal

Acrylic painting – expression of a sexually abused teen – by Sara

They filled your mind with promises
An array of enticing colors
Leading you up a perilous climb
Achieving their desired seclusion

They lined your path with shackles
Disguised as your own choices
Led to a room with no exits, teetering
On a place demanding submission

Close enough to rescue that its light
Shines like a beacon upon you
Yet others cannot see what they do not wish to see
Leaving you doused in invisibility

They handed you poison dressed up as a toy
An undetectable trap
It feels heavy in your arms
Yet you dismiss its discomfort
Just as you were instructed

You were chosen
You were special
You stood out to them in some way

You hold their secrets
Quiet and steady
Not letting them see
How it makes you tremble

You were never meant to understand
The position they put you in
Blind obedience is the
Tower they constructed
In the labyrinth you now reside

This weight placed upon you
Was never your choice
Its ensnaring complexity
Contrived specifically for you
To lure you in and then slowly break
You into scattered pieces

I see your pain tucked in deep beneath your
Outward strength and courage
Far from their grip you stand frozen in time
Afraid to step down and see
The sight of your suffering
Might carry its own weight somehow worse than living in it

How can you know that it is safer below
Than the misery you are wrapped in
How can I ask more from you
Than what you have already given

Take Me Away – #7

I recently started a creative project. I have a room in my house with empty walls, begging for artwork. After thoughtful consideration of a variety of ideas I decided to dedicate the walls of this room to scenic memorable places. I began sorting through photos of all of my favorite trips and places I have visited, making note of my top contenders. Then I decided to take this project one step further with my plan to now paint each of these places. Painting is very cathartic for me and has provided opportunities for expression in a way words cannot always capture. (See how artistic expression has been a part of my ongoing healing journey on my Art page). 

This painting took me away to one of my favorite places – Lake Tahoe. I was fortunate enough to live just a short drive away and call this stunning place my year round playground for over ten years. I soaked in the stunning winter scenery as I skied the surrounding mountains each winter. I explored the trails of the Sierra Nevada Mountains with hikes every summer. But I think some of my favorite Tahoe memories are of our fall and spring visits, when the crowds of people that flock to this area quiet down and you are left with the simple quiet beauty of a lake that shines as blue as the sky above it. While I no longer live nearby, the countless memories I have of adventuring on, in, and around Lake Tahoe will always hold a special place in my heart that only a home can occupy.