Leah's Blog

A Collection of Inspiring Stories and Articles Representing Resilience and Sustainment

Our Latest Blog Entry

May 13, 2018

I felt it most appropriate to introduce my first blog and incorporate a bit of my writing from an earlier time in my life.  I wrote this article 5 years ago when I was going through a very different stage in my healing process.  I could have edited it and tailored it to my "voice" today, but I love its authenticity and the raw nature of the emotions that I embraced at that time.  Enjoy!

~Coach Leah

February 14, 2013

Time Heals a Wounded Heart

Time. What is time? Most would consider time as an unseen element that consumes every millisecond of every day, forces forward progression and refuses to turn back. Time, for some, may be the ugly monster that inevitably triggers an alarm clock in the soundest stages of sleep or yet for others, the momentous experiences of life that can be looked back upon through photographs and memory books. Or shall we identify it as Webster would, “the measured or measurable period during which an action, process, or condition exists or continues.” Yes, time may be all of these things; however, for me, it is so much more than a mere clock on a wall or photograph in a book. Time, for me, has served as a bandage that has so carefully and superficially protected my heart. It has tightly grasped the memories of flesh-piercing abuse and nurtured them to healing. This bandage is not one that can ever be removed. It will never slip off during a romp in the swimming pool and will never lose its strength. It will continue to wrap itself around the depths of my loving soul, continue to strengthen itself over my wounded heart and continue to inspire me to look to a bright horizon of possibilities each day; leaving the past behind and embracing each moment as a newly laid pebble on my pathway of life.

As I basked in the comfort and warmth of a beautiful, sunny and breezy afternoon, I found myself in deep recollection. The more I became engrossed in the memories I’ve harbored for over a decade, the more I felt the blazing sun outside my window turn to darkness. Nature stopped cheerily singing, the music on my radio began to resemble that of a haunting classical score and I felt the pit of my stomach eerily growing with each thought. The black hole of my mind quickly transported me back to a place that I never thought I’d escape; a place that for most of my adolescent years left me feeling lonely, worthless, unloved and impure; a place where I unwillingly became a prisoner within my own home; a place of ruthless, heartless and violent abuse. For 6 years of my life I was face to face with a man who raped away my confidence, punched away my dignity and desecrated my self-respect. As he forcefully smothered me with his blanket of power and control, I found myself suffocating beneath it. I found myself wanting to give in and exhale my final breath. I found myself praying that he would just…kill…me.

As I was forced to succumb to his daily reign of terror, I could not understand how I allowed this to happen. This man was not the man that I found myself childishly falling deeply in love with. This was not the man that captured my heart with his angelic voice, heart-piercing smile and witty laughter. Who was this man that was sweeping my life out from under me in a maniacal tirade of viciously abusive narcissism? And who was I? Where was my righteous independence? Why did I not feel brave? Why was my soul entrenched with hopelessness? Where did my freedom go? I know the answer! This was all just a horribly wicked dream; the kind of dream that has a frighteningly “Freddy Kruegeristic” reality. And with a swift and unexpected blow to my face by a half-empty Mad Dog 20/20 bottle with his large, strong hand wrapped tightly around its neck, leaving a trail of blood flowing down my quivering chin and tiny fragments of snowy-white tooth free falling to the ground, I was reminded that this was not a dream; this was my life.

“Mommy, mommy!” I had never heard a more beautiful voice in my life. I was suddenly embraced by the warm glow of the four pastel yellow walls that surrounded me in my office. I could hear “Celebration” by Kool and the Gang playing loudly on my radio. I once again felt the cool breeze flowing through the open sliding glass door and kissing my flushed cheeks. I’m home. I’m home! THIS is my life! Yes, thank you Jesus, I’m home! As my energetic five year old ran into the room laughing giddily and calling my name, the pit in my stomach began to fill with relief, joy, and internal cheer. My adrenaline was coming down as if I’d just walked off of the world’s fastest roller-coaster. I breathed in a large breath of fresh, crisp air and when I did I realized: I do not live that nightmare anymore! Those memories are not my reality! In fact, they are far from it! You see, I escaped the abuse. I found my breaking point and I chose life. I chose to live! I chose a future! I chose my family and friends!

That young woman, the one embedded in my memories, the one with tear-stained cheeks, bloody clothes and broken bones, that young woman is not who I am today. I cannot deny her historic existence, but I can acknowledge that she was put to rest long ago. Time has transformed her, much as time transforms a young caterpillar into a strong and stunningly beautiful butterfly. The cocoon that imprisoned her was broken; forcefully ripped open by an overwhelmingly vigilante presence of survival. However, she did not emerge from the cocoon that bravery, courage and determination destroyed. What emerged was something different, something powerful, and something brand new. This new being that transcended from the cocoon was built within from a fiery desire to experience life in all its goodness, reclaim its independence and audaciously fly into the open arms of the world. It felt no fear, only a deep sense of strength, ambition and the ability to overcome any hindering obstacles in its path. What was this melting pot of triumphant qualities that emerged from this cocoon? It was me. It was me in the form of a new woman. It was me frantically reaching deep into my soul and discovering an ocean of courage that I did not know existed and drenching myself in it. It was me morphing the trauma, pain and sadness into perseverance, strength and self-empowerment. It is who I am today; a strong, independent, fearless woman who relentlessly refuses to be defeated.

As I embraced my daughter’s warmth in my arms, I graced her tiny body with the biggest “mama bear” hug I had ever given. And as I wrapped my arms around her I couldn’t help but touch my hand over my own heart as well. I closed my eyes, soaked in her sweet smell and felt the healing bandage over my heart tighten ever so slightly as if to delicately remind me that every precious moment such as this heals the wounds of my heart a little more. You see, just as time dedicates itself to the caterpillars unique and wondrous transformation, so did it lend itself to mine. Time held my hand as I journeyed out into the world that I did not know anymore, but was eager to discover. It has never let me down and always carried me forward. It has brought me through the hardest trials and introduced me to my greatest successes. Time remains faithfully on my side, as a constant progression into my future and an honest reminder of the tragic depths that I arose from. As I pour my dreams and aspirations into the intense motivation that steadily propels me forward, I remain keenly attentive to the healing qualities that time has provided me and immensely grateful at a happily discovered truth: time IS on my side.