It all felt a bit claustrophobic. You know: the violence, the miles from home, the heat, the mosquitoes. Everyone was a stranger, everything unfamiliar. I chose to study abroad in El Salvador because I wanted to explore the joy of justice, the commonality of communal living, and the skill of speaking Spanish. El Salvador at the time (and still is to this day) was the most dangerous peace-time country in the world. The gang violence being the main cause of crime. I was studying there 3 days a week, most of my classes in Spanish, learning about the suffering and salvation of the Salvadoran people. 2 days a week, I was working in a cement city on the outskirts of San Salvador, teaching English to too many children and listening too many stories of loss, violence, and pain held within the communal walls. Often, I felt trapped by it all.
There were few spaces to escape and find peace there. As a white female, I stood out on the Salvadoran streets like a sore thumb and was given unwanted attention by women and men alike, sometimes sexual, but mostly just curious. Although I had my own room, it was just large enough for my twin bed and standing space to change. My impassioned community mates often got in arguments or laughing fits in the outside courtyard located just outside my door. The violence required us to travel in packs, so it was rare to find a moment alone, and this introvert needed her space. Little did I know that I would find it in the most unlikely of places.
I had been avoiding doing laundry since the day I arrived because I had to do it all by hand in a tiny dark corner in the back of the house by the bathroom. A Salvadoran washing machine was essentially a large square stone, a Tupperware container, and a cylindrical piece of soap which all sat next to a stone basin filled with water. A Salvadoran dryer was a clothes line that hung in the garage. Eventually, however, I ran out of attire and had no choice but to pick up my heavy basket and put it down in that dark corner next to that cold stone.
And so I began: I picked up a shirt, dipped it in the cool water basin, placed it on the flat stone, rolled soap over it, and began to scrub. When I felt the sweat and food stains were effectively out, I would grab the small Tupperware container, fill it with water, and pour it slowly over the soapy shirt. I poured and squeezed and poured and squeezed until all the suds were gone. I rung out all the clear water, laid the shirt on the edge of the stone and started again with item #2. What I was surprised to find was that in between that small, dark corner, the cool, flowing water, and the rhythmic pouring and ringing, I finally found a space for peace. There, I could be alone, process all that was going on, and rest from the reality that I felt so challenged by.
Sexual abuse and illness recovery can feel equally as claustrophobic. Once my external life was free from abuse, it was time to free myself internally from the violence, the estrangement, the anger, and the annoyances of my past. I had internalized so much, trapped myself within a shell of survival. I needed to let it all out. This process takes time, years in fact, and is most challenging. It is difficult to find space for it. Additionally, it is difficult to find space from it.
The first challenge in recovering from sexual abuse and illness is finding the space to do the work. Daily responsibilities take up much of the day as it is, when could I find the time to process what happened to me? The second challenge is how to find space from it. The problem with physical and psychological pain is that there is no break from it. I take my body and brain wherever I go and so the pain always follows me there. How do I take a break from the incessant work that recovery requires?
Slowly throughout my recovery process, I found spaces like that small, dark laundry room in El Salvador: some where I could process freely and others where I could rest from that same process. Below are some examples that helped me find peace:
Spaces for the work:
The Bathroom at Work: No one ever asks me why I am in there for so long. So I take my time.
My Bedroom: I can stay safely in there all by myself as long as I'd like.
Long Walks In Nature: I can go at my own pace and think whatever I want, while getting exercise! Also, many parks are generally free to walk in, so this hobby is inexpensive.
Meals with Friends: They often let me bring the internal work to the table and helped me to process.
Therapy of Any Kind: One-on-one time with an expert in pain and healing management.
My Car: Driving alone is a great place to process.
The Shower or Bath: Another place that I can be alone without question.
Spaces for the rest:
The Ocean & Swimming Pools: Big enough to hold all of my pain, I would float until my body didn't feel the pressure to hold itself up and the emotional pain could be held by something other than me.
Nature: Often reminds me that I'm a part of something so much bigger than myself and can trust my body's natural healing process.
Headphones in Public: Often I would put these in and play nothing- no podcasts, no music. They became a boundary that communicated that I didn't want to interact with the external world, so that I could create the space to be with myself in a public setting.
Movie Theaters: I found movies to be a great way to get out of my story and enjoy someone else's!
Vacations: Experiencing new and exciting things helped my brain to take a break from the more familiar pain. These were hard to come by as they were expensive, so I would take local, simple trips or jump on friend's trips when invited.
Like that laundry room in El Salvador, all of the spaces above have helped me to find moments of peace to both do the work and to rest from it. I still go to them when I'm feeling a bit claustrophobic, they still help me to create space.
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Photo Credits:
1.  Pila