And so

I gathered up

all that had once

held me back,

all those

in-your-face

old triggers

that once caused

deep pain.

I gathered up all

the memories

of all the times

and all the present

stories and thoughts

of people

and situations

that were

dishonoring.

And with a prayer,

I flung it all

as far as I could —

to be recycled —

to be free.

In place of

the disconnect

and old dialogues

that used to happen,

all that was

in support of

the deepest kind

of healing

began to rise up.

Old wounds were

honored,

not acted out —

not sifted through.

There was a

new network

of support —

firmly held in place

from a little deeper

down.

And so I began

to listen

to a softer voice,

one that seemed

to begin

as a whisper.

And though there was

great shaking

as old ways

faded,

I held on to

the quiet place

in my own heart —

letting go

of all that left.

And though

there was pain

in going this way,

all I remember

is the tenderness

of the gentle whisper

from my own heart

reminding always,

no matter what,

I’m still here.

I found

life wasn’t quite as

black and white

as I had thought.

I found love wasn’t

about covering up

or fixing.

Somehow,

peace wasn’t

some distant goal

to be achieved,

and the most

loving thing

often meant allowing

myself and others

to be gently guided

through the tender places

that remained

unhealed.