I was standing there powerless. I had been warned that the currents in this Salvadoran river were too strong, but as a former Division 1 Collegiate Water Polo player, I was confident that I'd be able to swim. So I dove in, swam for awhile, and then attempted to swim back to the shore. But no matter how hard I pulled or how fast I kicked, I went nowhere. The river was more powerful than me after all. So, I froze, dug my feet deep into the sand between a few large rocks so that I could stand without being swept away and considered my options. Only one was available: to surrender.
I had learned once when white water rafting that if I ever fell out of the boat, I needed to turn onto my back, put my feet up, and surrender to the current. Simultaneously, I was to tread with my hands to keep my head above the water. Together my feet and hands were to feel for large objects so that I wouldn't hit them too hard. So I did just that: I laid onto my back, put my feet up, and surrendered to the current. I didn't know where it would take me, but I hoped that I could follow it diagonally to the shoreline. Once I curved around the corner, I saw a still body of water, paddled my way to it, stood up on the sand, and walked away from that powerful river.
As a sexual abuse survivor, my relationship with both power and surrender have been challenging ones. My models of power growing up were abusive. Any attempt to empower myself and dis-empower my abusers led to pain. Any attempt to talk back, or fight back, or flee all led to pain. So I learned to be very still. I froze in the moment of abutdse. Only one option was available: to submit.
As I have found independence from my abusers, I have taken back my power: I have learned to talk back, to fight back, and to run pretty effectively. But now I am tired of talking, of fighting, and of running. So today, I find myself again freezing: I feel paralyzed by the uncertainty of life, by my lack of confidence to embrace all things new, and by the fear of what might be on the other side. Today, I am reminded of this Salvadoran river that taught me to surrender.
To surrender and to submit are really different. Submission led to the overpowering by abusive people and the suffering that I felt as a consequence. Surrender led to safety, humility, a way out, and the option to live a new life with great lessons learned. Apparently, life teaches differently than my abusers did.
In my moment of paralysis, I find myself fearing that if I lay on my back to rest, put my feet up, and surrender to the currents of life, that it will lead to pain. And yet, each day, I have what I need, I'm reminded that I'm loved, and I'm finally finding the space to be with myself as I am without the abuse and PTSD. So, I am learning to surrender to this moment. We will see where I arrive on the other side of that curve. When I do, I'll be sure to write about it.
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Photo Credits:
1. River