I'm a Survivor

This evening I was reading a blog entitled, I am a Survivor. If you want, feel free to check it out... http://twloha.tumblr.com/post/6665063244

It is written by an organization that encourages those who struggle with addictions, pain, depression, cutting, suicide...you name it! It's definitely for the broken.

Anyways, if you don't get a chance to read that blog, it was pretty much talking about a woman who was abused sexually, three years ago to be exact, and she talks about her pain. She shares how there are days where she's happy and experiencing much growth, and then there are those days, where she feels like she is right back in the thick of the pain that took place three years ago, as if no time elapsed.

She goes on to share how she has realized she is a survivor. And even as she shares that, she fears the label itself, "survivor". She shares how society, and even the closest of friends and family can look at another's story, or pain, or even "label" and possibly see weakness, fragility, disease or any other list of less than strong words.

But what she closes with in admitting her story and her "label", if you will....is that in her pain and weakness, new friendships have formed, and other hearts have been encouraged through it all....all of those people who have been willing to accept her, for who she is, brokenness and all.

Her story deeply touched my own soul, and hit close to home on so many levels.

And as I am sitting outside a coffee shop in the quiet of the night, what stirs in my head most is how we, in different ways, are all survivors. Some of us are survivors of very real wars, others are survivors of abusive homes or relationships, or addictions, or maybe survivors of various other hardships.

So often, I think what stops us from sharing our stories with others and the pain they hold, is the shame in our weakness and pain. Or maybe even fear of judgment from others in how we survived/coped.

I've seen this even in my own story.

Growing up, I found various ways to hurt my body, in which to numb my experiences and hurt. And sometimes, in sharing my story, I fear peoples reactions or how they will look at me now, as a person when they hear the stories of parts of my life.

I've even seen this with a friend of mine. Her husband is an ex-gang member, an alcoholic and is now going to jail. He has two beautiful kids, and some would say he is a horrible dad, as he shares his story. But let me tell you, he loves his little kids.

What does all this mean??

That there is power in our stories. There is power in us sharing with others about our current pain or struggles. Or our past ones too.

We need each other, people! Our stories weren't meant for just us, or for just our immediate family. But for everyone! Otherwise it leaves with our passing.

I need your story! And you need mine.

There will be people that reject your story, and maybe even you, but don't stop! You never know how it may encourage another. It may even save a life. Your story, your words...could just be the words to keep someone going another day. Don't wait till someone asks for it, but rather in boldness be willing to offer it.

I don't know about you, but my soul thirsts for this. To walk together with others, sharing the waves of life, and offering authenticity that lies in our past, and in our stories.

I am a survivor of abuse, both from myself and others. And I have a story to tell.

What about you?