regardless of the tide

Healing is a process that never feels complete. I wonder if it ever will. 

The symptoms of trauma come in waves. Sometimes they recede for a time of calm. Sometimes it feels so serene and safe and sure footed, that I start building the castle of my life right there on the cool sand. The seashells and stone embellishments glisten in the sun. The children dance and laugh and play. And so do I. It feels carefree, joyful even. 

Then, suddenly, the clouds gray as the tide rolls in, and I frantically attempt to build boundaries to avoid destruction. Deep trenches are dug and high walls are built. Anything to avoid the hurt and pain. I’m willing to try anything even though history shows me that the outcome is always the same. The wave comes back with persistence. It proceeds up the shore, possessing anything in its way, committed to leveling anything in its path. And soon enough, that castle I built is flattened, barely traceable in the sand. 

I’m daydreaming that someday I will learn to carry all the things that matter so much to me farther away to higher and dryer land. That I will one day observe the waves from a more distant and safer place and not be so completely wrecked by their power and heaviness. That one day the castle that I build becomes a part of me, running deeply through my veins, it’s beauty shining brilliantly regardless of the tide.