It is never a good sign when the first thing you feel after a person leaves is relief and peace. The push and pull of the ocean’s waves, the rhythmic sound of collapsing waves is a soothing lullaby. But stay there long enough, at the edge of land and sea, and things begin to get blurry. What’s land and what’s water? The fall of night further erases the lines, the markers you used to ground yourself. And when the day comes again, you look around and see you’re nowhere near where you started. A slight panic echoes in your chest, the fatigue in your muscles as you slowly recognize you’ve been treading water longer than you knew. You look around. What do I do? How did I get here? I knew better than this. The ocean is beautiful to behold but dangerous to enter. Where do I go? You see in the distance the land you once belonged to, the land you called home, the landscape you know so well. How do I get back there? Oh, but look, a buoy extended for you. A floating crumb of love, just enough so you don’t sink and drown.
And night falls again, this time colder and longer. But now you’re familiar with the ebb and flow of things. A certain acceptance has washed over you, entering your nostrils, burning your eyes. But it’s simply how the ocean is. If one wants to swim in its waters, enjoy what it has to offer, then one must be willing to accept the ocean as it is. Inevitably there comes a point where your muscles, tired of keeping you afloat, start to give out. You can’t do this anymore and you know it. Your heart is the wreck the ocean wants to claim. So, you salvage what you can. Build a raft. Call the coast guard.
In the cover of night, swim away to the shore. Use the stars you know to take you home. Use the distant city lights to take you home. Use the wind and the whispers of truth it carries to take you home. Don’t look back. In the light of day, don’t look back. Do not heed the siren’s call, for if you do, it will surely lead to your demise.
When back on shore you’ll still feel the push and pull of the ocean in your body, your mind, and in your soul. But notice, do you notice that? How tired you are? How relieved you are to be out of the ocean’s grasp? Do you notice that? Feel it. Ignore the distant wail of the siren.
Take your time here. Feel the warmth of the sand beneath you. Careful not to stay here too long though. You must remember that the tides change and the ocean creeps up to claim more of the shore. Gather what strength you have within you, gather the pieces of your heart, whatever is left, gather it in your arms. Gather yourself in your arms. Salvage what you can. Know, trust that it can be rebuilt.
Go home, you can go now. It’s ok, you can go home. Go home, please. Rest and recover. With each day that passes on land the dizziness of the ocean will fade. The lines of the city, the lines between land and the abyss will be clear again. In fact, they’ll be clearer than ever before, stark and sharp outlines you won’t ever dare to approach. So go home and rest, recover, everything will be okay, no matter what the siren said to you. This will pass and you will be better than ok. I promise.
If you or someone you know is struggling with domestic violence or in an abusive relationship:
Get Help | The National Domestic Violence Hotline
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