My friend Jamie found rebirth in the water. As her marriage fell apart in the wake of her husband's affair, she swam. And in the pool, with rhythmic strokes, she found herself again, along with the strength to walk away.
Scabs, who hosts the Love Rice podcasts, found it playing with her dogs. Tossing a ball, watching them leap and run, tails wagging, tongues hanging, she tapped into a dormant joy that gave her the strength to keep fighting for herself.
Others of you have written of running, of yoga, of shooting hoops, of writing and knitting. Of healing by rediscovering something that we love, that nourishes us, that reminds us that we are not what he did.
Longtime BWC sisters know that I'm a huge fan of therapy. I can't imagine how I would have walked out of the darkness without my therapist helping me navigate my way. But therapy isn't always what happens inside of office walls. And sometimes, walking away from a therapist who isn't helping us, who seems to have his or her own agenda, is the wisest choice we can make.
We know what's best for ourselves. Even when we think we don't. It's there, sometimes so deeply buried that we'll have to dig.
But it's there. And sometimes we can access it in the swimming pool. Or on the running path. Or with the click, click, click of knitting needles as background music.