Today during kickboxing
was the first time I had to leave the mat for more than blowing my nose. It was
the first Fun Friday of this session and we were running the bags. As I was cruising
down my line of bags, throwing my kicks and punches, I suddenly felt like I
couldn’t breathe. My throat was closing like a fist, and I knew instantly what
was happening.
I was having an emotional
melt-down.
I left the mat and went
into the bathroom, trying desperately to get control. It was unlike any
melt-down I’ve had before. There were no tears, and I can only assume that’s
because after sweating profusely for 30 minutes I didn’t have any to give. But
the sobs where there, despite my dry eyes. Once I finally gained control, I
went back out on the mat and started kicking and punching harder than I had
before—because with my pain came anger.
After class, the emotional
pain hit me again as I was stretching. I somehow made it until class was
completely over and I made it back to the bathroom. I sat on the chair in the
shower area thinking, “How can I explain this if anyone asks?” I thought it
best to not give anyone that opportunity, so I dried my eyes (because this time
a few tears did manage to accumulate) and went back out. I intended to just
leave, but we have a small group that stays after class to do additional ab
work. I didn’t want my emotional instability to get in my way any longer, so I
joined the group on the mat. I made it through the exercises without additional
incident, but people knew something wasn’t right with me.
I told the first person
who asked that it was hard to explain, and she accepted my response. I was able
to say it without incident so it was left on the mat with her kind words making
me feel less alone. However as I was walking out the door, trying to get
outside quickly because I could feel it coming again, I was stopped. My
wonderful friends knew something was wrong and they wanted to help. This time I
couldn’t hold it in, and I knew I had to say something. Yet how could I
explain? I didn’t really fully understand it myself.
So why the melt-down?
The simplest answer is
that I was finally grieving over my fictional character, Angel.
Have you ever had a book
pull you in and make you cry? Or a movie? Or even a Hallmark commercial? It’s
not uncommon for people to emotionally connect with fictional characters or
stories. I know as a reader it’s what I’m looking for. I want to be so immersed
in the story that I feel what characters feel.
Well, I didn’t just read
Angel’s story—I created her. I gave her the life she had.
When I finished Shattered Angel, I knew that I needed an
emotional break. A friend asked me how I felt when it was done and my response
was, “Released.” I wasn’t just immersed in Angel’s life—I was living it with
her.
I finished the book in
February and scheduled it to launch the first week of March. After, I was met
with immediate distractions. In February we were hit with a late round of snow
days and 2 hour delays. Then Shattered
Angel went live, keeping me busy with making sure communications went out
on schedule. Then it was Spring Break and my time was consumed with spending
time with my daughter. In mid-March, I posted how I was struggling with the
upcoming decision about whether or not I should return to work. I thought the
stress of that decision alone was what weighed me down, but now I realize that
it was so much more than that.
It wasn’t until I had a
brief conversation with a friend yesterday who has started reading Shattered Angel. She was telling me that
while she was captivated by the story, there were times she just had to take a
break. She questioned, not for the first time, how I could write it. It was later that day when I realized that I
hadn’t really grieved for Angel and her story. Sure I cried when I read back
through for the edits (even though I knew what was going happen), but I didn’t
allow myself the time to accept and process what that book did to me
emotionally.
Until I was mid-way
through my kickboxing class this morning.
Suddenly the pain that Angel
had to endure was too much for me. I felt like I had been shattered, and I was
angry for her. Yes she is fictional, but unfortunately her circumstances are
not. Human trafficking is not just some scary concept that exists only in books
and movies, or on Law and Order: SVU. It’s real. And there are people suffering
every day.
I grieve for those people
as much as I grieve for Angel.
I wanted so much to give
her a better life. I even stopped writing near the end, telling myself that I
was the author and could do anything I wanted. But I couldn’t because that’s
not the reality for most of the victims in human trafficking. I had to tell
Angel’s story the way it was.
Now I look back at the
last few months in a different light. I see now that I haven’t really been
engaged with my life. I’ve been spending time with my family, I’ve been going
to FXB, I’ve been meeting deadlines—but that’s about it. My heart hasn’t been
in most of the things I’ve done. I just did them because I had to. I knew I was
in a slump, and I was starting to get frustrated. My husband and I had made a
decision about work, so that was no longer hanging over my head. The sun has
been shining, and the birds have been chirping—usually these are things that
energize me. I didn’t understand what was wrong, and I didn’t know why I couldn’t
get back to feeling like me again. I never thought to look to the pain of my
fictional character for my answer.
This is new to me. I don’t
know how to really process these feelings, but at least now I know that I need
to. At least now I know what’s been holding me back and keeping me from living
life at a Level 10. I may not yet know how to process these feelings, but I started
by listening to my body and letting it do what it needed to do.
I left the mat so I can get back in the game. And I finally felt some of the weight begin to lift.
I hope this doesn’t read
as a reason for you to not read Shattered
Angel if you had intentions to do so. I encourage you to read it and let Angel
touch you the way she touched me. Many of the victims of human trafficking don’t
have a voice. It’s my belief that I was given Angel’s story to help people
understand the horrors of those affected by abuse and torture. It’s not an easy
read. Yet, even with the pain that I feel now after going through Angel’s story
with her, I’m grateful I was called to write it.
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