THIS HURTS
It was a betrayal.
And it hurt far longer than I deemed acceptable.
Not the worst form of betrayal, but it stung none the less. Laced throughout it were all the things that betrayal brings - the unanswered questions, the constant rewinding and questioning of the past, the spiraling thoughts of future confrontations that never happen.
And it lingered the way betrayal does, trapping the wounded one in a prison of their own mind.
I needed it to stop. I needed to be free. The world had moved on but I was still having imagined conversations in my mind filled with words and sentiments, points and counter arguments, questions and attacks, none of which I would ever dare to convey while sober.
I tried to be strong, I tried to rationalize my way beyond the grief, beyond the unwanted emotions, but the swirling continued. Until I discovered two powerful words.
This. Hurts.
When my mind would bring up the events of the past, I would tell myself, “This hurts.” When my heart would wonder at when the fallout really began, at how I was caught so unaware at the abrupt end, “This hurts.” When I would attempt to construct a version of the future that would hold the other party accountable, “This hurts.”
This hurts.
Two powerful words.
It is easy to substitute hurt with anger and the mind is doing its protective best when it guides our thoughts in such a direction. But when the heated trains of thought do not bring the justice we so desire, the heart bleeds again.
And again and again and again.
When I found my two words, when I trained my mind to give voice and room for the wounds of my heart, I was surprised at the healing that followed. It was as if my mental attempts to define and control and understand were nothing but aimless picking at a wound, all while trying to pretend it wasn’t there.
“This hurts” gave voice to my pain and removed my hands so the wound could heal.
These days I still find myself going down trains of thought that I should have stopped sooner, my mind still bent on self-protection and the avoidance of pain. This is normal, human even. But when I catch myself, I’ve learned to halt my inner-dialogue, inhale deep, and breathe out two little words, “This hurts.”
Breathe out, “This hurts.” Breathe in strength.
Breathe out, “This hurts.” Breathe in healing.
My two little words have not brought the answers betrayal begs for, but they have allowed me to begin to surrender my questions. They have not brought resolution as much as they have reframed what is really important - my heart and my mind, free.
In the end it is not being ‘right’ that matters and I’ve learned that vengeance never brings the inner peace we long to see restored. There is strength in deciding that despite the pain, our freedom is actually our decision. We are the ones that can open our own prison door.
Two little words.
This hurts.