Float and Recover

Image Credit: Ryan Moreno via Unsplash.

Written by H. WEND. May 6th, 2023.

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What is something you would tell your younger self?

I’ve tried to answer it plenty of times before wondering what I would be trying to achieve if this scenario were real and possible. I’ve realised two things: first, that maybe nothing I could say would impact anything, and second, if anything were to be impacted, who is to say things would have gone a better way or the way I wanted?

I’ve been thinking a lot about recovery—the phase that follows disaster. We know we often cannot control the things we encounter and suffer from, but we tend to forget that some of the best things have come from struggle. If only we let ourselves recover. This is the part that is often skipped.

I’ve been thinking that what I’m learning now—in this part of my life—is something I would share with my younger self, who was about to experience a lot of hard things. I wouldn’t hope for a different outcome, but, at the very least, I’d be better prepared.

This important lesson I’m learning at almost 30 years old is about permission to recover.

I’ve had plenty of disasters, the most recent being the breakup I wrote about in my previous post. While floating along in my metaphorical abyss, I was at a point a few weeks ago where I had been wondering where and what recovery was because I’d never truly been there.

The floating or in-between part can be boring, stale, and questionable. I’m impulsive, and floating becomes uncomfortable, but it’s all I can do. I can’t get past it. Rarely do I find myself floating towards the resolution I need.

When I was younger, we didn’t talk about things; we swept them under the rug, and only when we were alone with ourselves could we acknowledge the discomfort and blame ourselves. There would be no recovery, just endless, uncomfortable floating.

What I am learning is that floating along is just as much part of the recovery as the moment it all gets better, even if you end up floating away for a while but not forever—you cannot float forever.

The moment you stop trying to drown yourself, the moment you stop panicking, the moment you surrender and start to float—that is the moment recovery begins.

So, just float—embrace the water you’re in and keep floating until you are thrown a lifebuoy. When you are ready to take it, the lifebuoy will relieve a great deal of the burden of keeping your body afloat; it will give you something to cling to and hope for. It signifies safety, rest, and hope.

I am learning the different forms lifebuoys take in my life. Recently, it’s been a therapy session, meditation, a mini-project, my loved ones, and even things like podcasts and films. Anything that gives you hope is worth clinging to, especially when you are fragile and transitioning into life after a disaster.

Sometimes it takes great suffering to pierce the soul and open it up to greatness.

– Jocelyn Murray

I am learning how to take my experiences and find the greatness or hope buried within them. Before you know it, you’re out of the water, looking out at the sea that could have swallowed you whole, but it didn’t, and it started with the decision to float. That, young Hannah, is recovery.