Years ago, I imagined the most phenomenal breakthrough of breakthroughs to free myself from memories of trauma. I didn’t tell too many people because I realized they would wonder “Why in the world does she think that way?”
I believe some people, knowing I put a whole lot of thought into this solution, realized how serious I was…probably were sad for me that I would go to such extremes. Some avoided me.
Some, most likely reacted to the honesty of my revelation of trauma and saw me in a different light. Perhaps, even found me courageous for making it through. Maybe they treasured that dim little strip of brightness they saw in me not always overshadowed by the dark recollections of pain.
My idea, a medical procedure, brain surgery to identify and extract the section that stored traumatic memories, the ones that overshadowed, blocked out anything good.
The memories that would catch fire and destroy good days with the match strike of some unintentional trigger.
Essentially, a lobotomy of the chunk of brain storing memories that kept me focused on what couldn’t be, of memories that spoke so loudly of my lack, my struggle to move towards enough…contented and deserving of good, of confident days.
I haven’t thought of my memory removing procedure in years. My memories are me, they are in every chapter of my book. The tragedy, dysfunction, and fearful pieces of my story are the scripture of my book.
My memories are for good, for declaration of authentic “Grace of God saved me” moments!
My memories are the words, lines, chapters in my book. Honest and open, drawing in the reader of my book.
Writing my book?
No, not yet. But closer to trying. To feeling capable and worthy.
Right now, I’m Reading my Book.
I’m really glad nobody tore any of the pages out.
I can rest. The Lord has been so good to me, saved me from death, my eyes from tears, my feet from stumbling. Psalm 116: 7-8