grounded

written during my shift earlier tonite:

the shelter is always the thing in my life I always try to cut. yet it is the thing that keeps me the most grounded.

it jolts me back into reality.

gives me a perspective of the real world around me.
the war zone and the world that never sleeps.

the world we’re far too blind to. far too insulted from.
the invisible war raging all around us.

can you hear their cries?

the war zones of poverty. the war zones of living in a volatile abusive environment for years. the war zones of children who have been hit so many times they flinch at any attempt I make to embrace them. the war zones of mental and emotional abuse and the women who come in here so programmed; so lost; so confused. they know something devastating has happened to them. something vital has been lost. But it’s like they’ve awoken from a bad dream. is this even real?

that’s what I hear most often in working with crisis.

“the words coming out of my mouth do not feel real.”
“this couldn’t be happening.”
“this isn’t my husband.”
“it really wasn’t that bad.”
“is this even real?”
“this feels so surreal…”

you were never meant to live this way.

I thought as she relayed her story to me.

this girl is absolutely beautiful.

it’s always the young ones that get me.

I’m learning how to empathize and feel, without owning their pain and thus being a wreck for the next week. doing so is an act of trust.

but, i am called to feel the weight of it all.
breathe it in. and open wide your hearts also, i'm urged. don't look away. don't hold your breath.

breathe it all in.
yes it's stench is incredible.

but she’s not just another story.

she’s a life.
she’s a soul.

she has a future.

. . . .

She’s 17.

7 month old baby.

And then we have a three-year-old in the house with a black eye.

Three. Years. old. What?
every time I look at this little girl I try to imagine her face restored. what her left eye looked like before…

before… it all happened.

something wells up within me when I’m around this injustice.

Something is not right.
It’s not okay.

He places within us a capacity to go and fight for those unable to fight for themselves, just as we’ve been ruthlessly fought for and bought back. Reclaimed. Restored. Redeemed.

He saw our lives and his heart broke and he said the same thing.
This is not okay.

I must come for them.

He will come for all of them.
Every last one.