There was blood everywhere…
I hadn’t seen this amount of blood coming from my face since I was living on the streets.
No. That’s not accurate.
I had seen this amount of blood gushing from my face since I was in Momma’s house.
I was working out at the gym and slamming a medicine ball. Long story short, I misgauged the angle. I slammed the ball on the ground hard. It bounced up and smashed me in my nose.
There was blood every where.
I stumbled to the bathroom, blood POURING from my nose.
I pinched my nose while I looked for paper towels. There were none. This gym was high tech and had the electronic hand dryers.
So I resorted to toilet paper to stop the bleeding and clean up my bloody mess.
But when you add water to toilet paper it degenerates into paper mache without the glue.
And it makes the blood run:
On the counter.
Down the mirror.
On the wall by the sink.
I could hear myself saying, “It’s may fault.
I messed up.
I’m in trouble.
I’m so sorry.
I can’t do anything right,” etc.
I kept trying to clean up my mess.
I felt panic in my chest.
I heard Spirit gently whisper, “Be still.”
Why was I cleaning up WHILE still bleeding?
Why was I trying to get rid of all the evidence that I was hurt?
It was in that moment I feel backward into memory.
Whenever I would be maliciously beaten—with an extension cord, broomstick, waterhose, whatever in reach—I would be made to clean up the “mess.”
I was told I had brought it on myself.
It was my fault.
That I was clumsy.
I made them do it.
I brought it on myself.
So I cleaned up to not get into MORE trouble AND to make sure no one else did either.
Free fall forward, back to the gym bathroom.
I took a deep breath and stopped cleaning.
My cousin and Happy were waiting outside the bathroom for me.
Happy ran to me like I was water in a desert.
My cousin got ice and told me what to do to stop the nose bleed.
I relaxed in my chest.
I wasn’t alone anymore.
I was safe.
It took a week or so for my nose to heal and for the swelling to go down. It was hard seeing my face swollen and bruised—flashbacks are real LOL—but something miraculous happened.
A tender mercy from God, really.
I. Stopped. Cleaning.
If you have ever been hit, punched, or beat, the abuser makes you feel like it’s your fault.
The way I survived those beatings was by cleaning up all the evidence that showed that I had been hurt, thereby avoiding further “punishment” and getting my abusers in trouble.
But in the gym, when I stopped cleaning and stated to tend to ME, I cut the cord to that painful part.
I don’t have to clean up bloody noses, broken ribs, sprang arms nor hide bloody whelps on my legs, back, and arms.
I don’t have to protect me anymore.
I don’t have to cover for them ever again.
In the gym, there WAS blood everywhere.
This time it WAS my error.
But it wasn’t malice.
It was a mistake.
And mistakes can be forgiven.
So I forgive me for accidentally hurting myself.
Forgiving myself let’s me know I have healed another wound from the past. I’m not recycling generational trauma.
I’m healing it…