Here

Make yourself seen and known.
Find ones with whom you can be at home. For home is not a location, but made through abiding.

I’ve been hiding lately. I’ve been missing and unseen, disassociating, seemingly.

I say seemingly to take away the sting and edges of discomfort stabbing at the reality of disassociating.

I leave when I feel memories arising that are frightening, too much for thinking. This is an acronym, my holy hymn.

Everything doesn’t have to be shared right now – instantaneously. I realized despite being in the instant, I was disappearing into a digital oblivion. I’m back again. Here I am writing. This is transcribed from paper journals, where pen touches paper and wrinkled water marks shrink the canvas of my thoughts from bottled water accidents amongst the purses this journal has swam in lately.

An acronym doesn’t define either you or me. My name is Becky. I refuse any other defining or labeling to chain me to its coloring.

It’s okay to be where you’re at and not be ashamed of the facts. Your very lungs arising are a signal that you’re where you’re supposed to be. Don’t worry. It leads to nothing as far as it comes to changing the past or creating the future. You’re here. God is near. Every. Single. Moment. He doesn’t disappear somewhere when things get ugly. He climbs into the dirt with you.

You’re not where you were. Timing is everything. A baby born before its time can be a dangerous or even deadly thing. Waiting isn’t the place of passivity, but the indispensable stage of developing. Stay patient. In the waiting you’re growing and receiving everything you’ll be needing for the season following. Soak it in in present tense. Going back is impossible, and fast forwarding forcefully is an effort of futility; there’s a season for everything.

#ptsd #becky

Paper Journal Entry #293

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