I’m not saying it didn’t happen.
It did, and the pain ripped you in two.
You can still feel the raised ridge where the scar
Reminds you of the rending.
You can still remember the way
Your lungs constricted, the air squeezed from your throat.
You cannot deny that it changed you.
I’m not saying it didn’t matter.
It did, and your eyes needed new lenses
With which to view this world.
Your skin felt raw and bloody.
Your heart felt bruised and tender.
Your legs felt like a lamb learning to walk:
Unsteady, unsure, wobbly,
Afraid of another fall.
What I am saying is that it can be redeemed.
It can become essential to your bones, your blood.
It can become a new blanket you weave:
The threads made of pain that, together,
With healing and work, with practice and conversation,
Create a cover of comfort and warmth.
What I am saying is that, one day,
Although you will never, ever be glad
That it happened,
You will value its weight,
The way it has changed you,
Shaped you.
You will learn to value the you that is YOU
Because it happened.
