The Only Way Out
"My tendency to want to run feels unnatural now
The only way out is through
The faster we're in the better
The only way out is through ultimately
The only way out is through
The only way we'll feel better
The only way out is through ultimately"
~Alanis Morissette lyrics to Out is Through
In the first year after the attack, I threw myself at recovery. I had almost superhuman determination. I pushed against every obstacle set before me. The doctor's predictions- "We know the normal course of recovery based on the % of burns that you have so, most likely, you will be in the hospital burn unit for 4 months, from there you will go to a rehab hospital for another 4 months; you will need to live with someone up to a year because you will need help; it will probably be 2 years before you'll be ready to return to work."
I left the hospital in 6 weeks because I worked so hard to prove to the nurses and my doctor that I was ready, only to return a week later with serious infections in all my graft sites from the waist down. I lived with my daughter and son-in-law for less than 4 months after finally leaving the hospital at 8 weeks. In only 4 months, I returned to my job working 30 hours a week. It was a huge stretch but I did it! Less than 6 months after the attack I moved into my own condo and continued working. And that's just the physical part of the work!
While in the hospital, I declared that I would forgive this thing and the man who tried to destroy me. I had made a personal goal of freedom several years earlier to "exit this life without harboring bitterness toward any human being" and I intended to actively pursue that goal. Soon after leaving the hospital, I began journaling to help navigate the treacherous waters of my broken heart. It felt as if my life was shattered and I didn't know how to put it back together again. Writing helped me release some of the scorching pain and slowly find my way through dense fog of my mind and emotions. I felt so lost and alone even though I was surrounded by family and friends who loved me and supported me any way they could. But, the journey through the insanity of my life was an alone trip- only I could reach those depths or find my way out of that forest of despair. I vacillated between letting myself go there and trying to convince myself that I hadn't changed at all- I was still the same Becky who pulled into the driveway that sunny morning in July- full of hope and promise. It was nearly a year before I confronted the truth that I was not the same; I was forever changed. The naïve trusting fearless woman who was Becky, was no more. I remember saying to my son, Jeremy, while still in the hospital, "Bill robbed me of my innocent trust of Life!" As I sit here writing eleven years later, unfortunately, I know I was right and that fact still breaks my heart.
It was only very recently that I realized at what point I withdrew my own permission to feel the depths of pain that had taken up residence in my heart. That was the blessing and the curse of the Beacon Journal story published on the 1 year anniversary of the attack. Being easily recognized by the mask meant strangers stopped me nearly everywhere I went to offer support and encouragement often telling me, "You're an amazing woman!" What a beautiful thing! I always reassured them that I am decidedly average, far from amazing, and just trying to do my best to survive. But, somewhere in the midst of it, I decided that I needed to not be messy. Way back in the recesses of my mind, I told myself, "Nobody wants to see that! Nobody wants to hear you go on about it. It's history. Move on!" That is when I began to ignore my pleading heart. And because I refused to listen, the quiet pleas became raging screams that refused to be silenced. These emotions that overwhelm me need to be heard and healed and I now recognize that it takes time. I can't skip the process. (sigh) So, here I am, finally listening again.
Alanis Morissette has become one of my spiritual guides; her lyrics have become some of the poetry of My Life. As I was sailing down the road from work the other day, I found myself singing along,
"The only way out is through. The only way we'll feel better." I'm discovering "My tendency to want to run feels unnatural now." Finally, the time has come to explore the murky depths with a trusted therapist. "The only way out is through ultimately."
The only way out is through
The faster we're in the better
The only way out is through ultimately
The only way out is through
The only way we'll feel better
The only way out is through ultimately"
~Alanis Morissette lyrics to Out is Through
In the first year after the attack, I threw myself at recovery. I had almost superhuman determination. I pushed against every obstacle set before me. The doctor's predictions- "We know the normal course of recovery based on the % of burns that you have so, most likely, you will be in the hospital burn unit for 4 months, from there you will go to a rehab hospital for another 4 months; you will need to live with someone up to a year because you will need help; it will probably be 2 years before you'll be ready to return to work."
I left the hospital in 6 weeks because I worked so hard to prove to the nurses and my doctor that I was ready, only to return a week later with serious infections in all my graft sites from the waist down. I lived with my daughter and son-in-law for less than 4 months after finally leaving the hospital at 8 weeks. In only 4 months, I returned to my job working 30 hours a week. It was a huge stretch but I did it! Less than 6 months after the attack I moved into my own condo and continued working. And that's just the physical part of the work!
While in the hospital, I declared that I would forgive this thing and the man who tried to destroy me. I had made a personal goal of freedom several years earlier to "exit this life without harboring bitterness toward any human being" and I intended to actively pursue that goal. Soon after leaving the hospital, I began journaling to help navigate the treacherous waters of my broken heart. It felt as if my life was shattered and I didn't know how to put it back together again. Writing helped me release some of the scorching pain and slowly find my way through dense fog of my mind and emotions. I felt so lost and alone even though I was surrounded by family and friends who loved me and supported me any way they could. But, the journey through the insanity of my life was an alone trip- only I could reach those depths or find my way out of that forest of despair. I vacillated between letting myself go there and trying to convince myself that I hadn't changed at all- I was still the same Becky who pulled into the driveway that sunny morning in July- full of hope and promise. It was nearly a year before I confronted the truth that I was not the same; I was forever changed. The naïve trusting fearless woman who was Becky, was no more. I remember saying to my son, Jeremy, while still in the hospital, "Bill robbed me of my innocent trust of Life!" As I sit here writing eleven years later, unfortunately, I know I was right and that fact still breaks my heart.
It was only very recently that I realized at what point I withdrew my own permission to feel the depths of pain that had taken up residence in my heart. That was the blessing and the curse of the Beacon Journal story published on the 1 year anniversary of the attack. Being easily recognized by the mask meant strangers stopped me nearly everywhere I went to offer support and encouragement often telling me, "You're an amazing woman!" What a beautiful thing! I always reassured them that I am decidedly average, far from amazing, and just trying to do my best to survive. But, somewhere in the midst of it, I decided that I needed to not be messy. Way back in the recesses of my mind, I told myself, "Nobody wants to see that! Nobody wants to hear you go on about it. It's history. Move on!" That is when I began to ignore my pleading heart. And because I refused to listen, the quiet pleas became raging screams that refused to be silenced. These emotions that overwhelm me need to be heard and healed and I now recognize that it takes time. I can't skip the process. (sigh) So, here I am, finally listening again.
Alanis Morissette has become one of my spiritual guides; her lyrics have become some of the poetry of My Life. As I was sailing down the road from work the other day, I found myself singing along,
"The only way out is through. The only way we'll feel better." I'm discovering "My tendency to want to run feels unnatural now." Finally, the time has come to explore the murky depths with a trusted therapist. "The only way out is through ultimately."
posted by Becky Spellman Waltz at 7:54 AM
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