Markers

You know when you hike a trail and find markers stamped on trees — the yellow or blue X's lazily chalked on timber. You’ll see arrows guiding you through the weeds. These modest beacons tell us which path to take and are determined to keep us going.

Healing can be like that, except on this trek, we seldomly notice the X's. It makes sense why we wouldn't, who really wants to recognize stoppage points while we’re walking through challenges? To name our present wounds can be more painful than the actual pain.

There is though, something so significant in noting markers that color our process.

These are the moments that beg us to remember. They are the space to release emotions from the cage within. The experiences we want to capture forever, like pressed flowers in a notebook.

Here are some of the dried petals and stems preserved between my pages:

The two days I felt tangibly connected to myself. I felt grounded, I felt in control, and I felt full of compassion towards the unknown and uncontrollable. For two days I voiced, "I can trust here. I can be here. I'm with and not without."

The Wednesday mornings I've woken up at 5 AM to go the gym. I've seen the sun show off, like a grand entrance at the ball. The blue and orange hues are still vibrant when darkness begins its exit. Light and dark are courteous at this time. They say their "hello" and "goodbye", dutifully as strangers passing in the street. Five AM mornings are crafted just for me, even though others get to dwell here too. It's our own early morning party.

The two weeks where I felt less dissociation and more aware of the sensations in my body. For two weeks straight I was able to let anxiety, sadness, and joy speak through my limbs, facial expressions, and hands. I felt the sensations soften, and understanding find it's footing in my chest.

The date night where my husband and I sat at a coffee shop outside, in the rain. It was warm enough to be outside. We experienced the light-to-heavy raindrops fall. The date when silence was our friend.

When I celebrated eight years of writing with my accountability partner, Kelly. Our first writing night was in 2014 at Tracy’s house. Kelly was dog-sitting. That was the night we found out we were made for writing with each other.

The "just one more" rep with the barbell has taught me to sit in pain, and endure emotions I usually flee from. Emotions like disappointment, hopelessness, and overwhelm. The YMCA Bodypump class is taking my body and mind to new heights where I can enjoy a marvelous mountain top view.

There are more markers to come, but I'm ready to make this a thing. I will note the X's on the tree. I will bask in the uncomfortable, long pauses to breathe in the scenery. My markers say — I thought I wouldn’t survive this journey, but I am here, standing on a firm foundation, looking up at remarkable architecture.

Etched arrows, slightly chipped X's, rocks at the alter, or stakes in the ground keep my feet rooted in faith. From here, I move forward towards a greater, mysterious territory only to discover a transformed being called me.