This December feels different than the last. It’s like looking into a kaleidoscope when I squint through my eyelashes to see rays of sun shimmering across my skin and warming me up. My bedroom is quiet most mornings save for the sound of my dog snoring. While reminders of doubts and worries related to trauma creep to the forefront of my brain, I try to focus on the peaceful silence and imagine remaining in that stillness forever. The morning ritual now looks something like taking anxiety medication, reading my devotional and putting on whatever song is in my head.
Around this time last year, I was keeping a secret from most of the people I love and did what I learned to become pretty good at: suppressing my feelings to avoid making other people uncomfortable. I tried my best to pretend I was okay, but I was hurting. Tears do still flow, but words do too. In both cases, I feel a sense of urgency followed by relief after I’ve let out what I’ve been holding in.
I just wanted someone to listen, believe me and understand. You’ve done that and even more. You encouraged me, shared my story and shared your story with me. You gave me tips, important names and numbers, checked in on me, helped me afford representation and acted as a listening ear. If you were able to coax me out of the house at any point in the year, congratulations. I would have gladly chosen instead to bury myself under my covers.
Our conversations, hikes and birding outings are now stored in my brain. You’ve helped me make new, beautiful memories. Replacing negative associations with the outdoors with positive ones was one of the first things I was tasked with attempting after starting counseling. Through all our interactions—whether digital or in-person, you showed me how to surround someone with love and uplift them. It’s like nothing I could have ever imagined and nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I do not take it for granted.
There were moments where I felt guilty like I wasn’t frequenting the outdoors as often as I should, but it’s still very complicated. I look at the sky and immediately smile, but sometimes wooded areas or routes still feel eerie to me. My formal introduction to birding was by way of the same person who caused me so much pain. So, just as birds can be magnificent, they are also a symbol of a very dark time for me. I have not returned to any of the places we visited to go birding. Instead, I opt for places I was familiar with before we ever met or try new spots with people who are kind enough to spend time with me.
I am experiencing the joy of nature but at my own pace. I know things won’t be the same, but I refuse to let what I can only imagine is some form of internalized hatred projected onto others destroy my want to connect with my surroundings. I’m looking forward to the day the positive associations greatly outweigh negative associations, but for now, I’m taking in the present moment. I am not alone. I am loved. I did a hard thing with the help of an enormous amount of people. I am safe. I am so grateful.