Hidden Mercy

Delicate.

A curse I’ve carried since the age of 10. When the first man I ever loved left me. My father.

The death of my mother at 17 led to a young marriage – an attempt to salve a vast ache of loss. But the bliss of the union was not to last, for it was broken by affairs, and with it any strength I had left.

Fragility born from trauma. A chronic symptom of fear.

I don’t feel. I become.

I love so much it overtakes me.

I break so much it’s hell.

When I’m lonely it’s as if the cool earth crumbles beneath my feet and all that remains is a black eternal void – and me.

As though I am not composed of elements but stitched solely of every emotion there is.

Sewn to unravel.

All my life I’ve been strung up and yanked about by strings. Pain’s contorted marionette.

You knew I’d been broken. Mishandled. That life had been unkind. You promised I could trust you. That I’d be safe in your mindful, loving care.

“Take my hand,” you’d said. And I did. Not yet knowing that at the touch of our skin a soul had been sold.

I tried so hard to be enough. Nothing was ever, ever enough.

Every beautiful moment we shared was tainted by your betrayals, rendering each void.

I soon realized you were a blazing fire I’d wrapped around a body still searing from old burns. But it was too late. I was in love with you.

What strange magic was this? To love the hands that hurt me. The lips that dripped with lies.

The women. The addictions. The constant criticism and devastating verbal assaults. All were sharpened arrows piercing the chest of one whose heart beat only for you.

I became the target you practiced upon regularly. Painted red with my blood you spilled. How long did it take to craft your specialty? Destroying something already annihilated!

Rare was a single apology and never was one sincere.

Apathy multiplied every wound, collapsing me under a hoard of heartache - my spirit’s grave.

Yet, even from 6 feet under, I latched onto you. With knuckles white.

Forgave every treason.

Why? I don’t understand how I became a fiend for your love when my soul never tasted a fix of it.

Years spent salivating for your approval, loyalty, integrity, and love. Never to be satisfied.

Your abuse consumed me to ash. And when you saw no more use for me, I was discarded. Scattered among the black dagger-edges of Rock Bottom.

A pain infinite.

How soul suffocating the agony of love denied.

My very existence became a depression so dark my physical health deteriorated; our past fervently stabbing broken remnants of a voodoo doll heart.

Weeks spent clutching myself in bed. Lights off. Curtains closed. Encompassed by a loneliness so bitter reality escaped me, or, rather, I escaped it.

But it was there, in that wretched, miraculous pit, where I uncovered what I’d lost long ago: purpose.

My profound suffering sparked within me a great desire to become the love I ached for.

It reminded me of who I’d been, once upon a time, long ago. I became drenched in compassion for the brokenhearted.

Every atom of my being yearned to create something, anything, that might ease the pain of others. That might make them feel less alone.

For the first time since the genesis of everything, something within a black hole found escape. Purpose breathed me back to life. Airlifted me out of the darkness.

You’d stacked and increased my collection of pain into a mountain. How proud I feel to prove mountains can be moved! For mine has fallen away by forgiveness, forgiveness inspired by springtime blooming in my heart. And I’ve exchanged fear, resentment, hurt, and unworthiness for pockets full of precious gems.

Jewels uncovered within the searing rubble of that hellish place.

Compassion.

Strength.

Wisdom.

Courage.

Purpose.

Empathy.

Abundant Love.

And I’m still unpacking my fire-purified gifts.

Had I not visited the depths of my shadows I’d never have found treasure in the ruin.

I’d never have learned that to be delicate is its own kind of strength, for some emotions are meant to feel wholly and without restraint. Like compassion. Like gratitude. Like love.

They’ve enraptured me whole.

Despair wasn’t my end; it was my beginning. My baptism.

It’s morning now, behind drawn drapes birds are crooning the sun awake and, oh! I can’t help but join their praise! The nightmare is over. A new day has come at last!

Arrested by peace, I feel braver, stronger. I sense light. I sense freedom.

My future calls out to me, beckoning wonder, mystery, and every beautiful thing.

How thankful I am to have lost everything in exchange for what I’ve gained.

“Suffering is a gift, in its hidden mercy.” – Rumi

To those out there ensnared in the lonely grip of grief, please, find comfort! Your suffering is not in vain. Look among the shadows for something glistening in the ruin. Treasure – hidden mercy – it is there. Near you. Even now.

It is always, always there.

And when you are ready, you will live again. More fully than ever before. I promise.

With full faith that your mountain, too, can and will be moved, I am here rooting for you. Always.

Your friend in darkness and light,

Lillia Grace

Dear one who was so cruel and careless with my heart, there was a pain deep inside you. It made you other than who you really are. I see that now. I hope healing finds you, delivers you, the way it found and delivered me.

It is because of you I remember. I remember why I am here. What I came to this earth to do.

You destroyed everything I was. So, I became everything I am. Relentlessly I will care for this world and the beautiful breathing beings in it. They will know they are not alone.

I will do my part and I will not quit. For we were each given our own little garden to tend in this universe, and I was born to sow and cultivate love.

For this passion renewed, this invaluable gift, I owe you my deepest gratitude.

Forever in your debt,

Lillia Grace