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I didn’t realize it then, but I was also trying to protect myself. If the damage was a result of my failure to respond properly, then it was something I could control—if I just did it right. The last thing I wanted was to lose control again. Blaming myself for not being “over it” gave me some assurance, however small, that I was in control and could fix things—if I just did it right. The problem was, I clearly wasn’t getting it right, because I wasn’t better yet. The “magic words” of forgiveness I’d journaled months before hadn’t fixed the nightmares, flashbacks, and fear.
“The way to healing,” he told me then, “is to take what you’ve been through and make it mean something. And you’ve done that.” And I remembered one more time: The more you love, the harder you fight.
