As I explained a few posts ago, my connection to England runs very very deep. I am now there and intend to enjoy every second. So many people here came into my path at times when there was trauma going on and smoothed the way for me, many without even realizing it. The vast majority of these people are still with me and have continued to love me flaws and all. I look forward to spending time or at least chatting on the phone with as many of them as i can.
A week from this coming thursday, I will be winging my way to England again. I’m really looking forward to seeing my friends again, but not at all looking forward to the flight there and the flight back. That’s not because I’m afraid of flying, but rather because under normal circumstances, I use a hydraulic lift to transfer anywhere I need to, and I won’t be able to do that when boarding the plane and coming off the plane in both places. That means I will have to literally be physically lifted instead, and the thought absolutely terrifies me. All I can say is thank goodness for xanax because you can bet I’ll be taking it on both flights.
On the third of next month, I’ll be making a return trip back to England after five and a half years. England has always been special to me. So special in fact, that I consider England to be my Heart Home, So, what exactly IS a heart home? A heart home is a place where, though you may not have been born and bred there, you might just as well have been because it’s the place where you feel most comfortable and at peace. For me, that’s what England is. There are many reasons why, but one of the main ones is that I’ve always felt a connection to it ever since I was a very little girl and watched Princess Diana marry Prince Charles, That connection has continued to stay with me, and it has continued to grow stronger over these many years, as each friend that I have over there has taken me into their hearts and cared for me as if I were a member of their own family. Given that my relationship with most of the members of my family of origin has been strained to say the least. the connections I have with my friends in England are doubly precious.
It is also important that I return there because as some of you know, I lost my father almost two years ago now, and many of the people I’m going to be seeing on my trip are people that were with me from the time of his stroke and eventual cancer diagnosis through to the end and beyond. Emotionally, I’ve not fully recovered, and I may never fully recover from the loss of my father, but I’m hoping that by the time I return from my trip, I’ll at least have my feet back under me a bit.
Some, if not all of you know what I experienced as a child. I’ve struggled, and very much continue to struggle with comparing my experience with what has happened to others. I know intellectually that I shouldn’t compare my experience with abuse to other’s experiences, but for some reason I can’t get what my head knows to connect with my heart and emotions. While I don’t question that what happened to me was in fact abuse, when I hear about or read other’s stories about what their experience with abuse was, I often say to myself: “This makes what happened to me look tame in comparison.” Or something similar. Many have said to me that no experience is more valid than anyone else’s and again, I know this to be true on an intellectual level, but cannot get it to resonate with me on an emotional level. I also know without a doubt that this is something I need to work on, but I’m unsure how to go about stopping myself from making comparisons between mine and other’s abuse experiences. Any suggestions would be welcomed.