Let’s talk about self harm.

I’m not an expert; I’m not a psychologist; I have never offered peer support; and have never harmed myself in any of the ways that are talked about in books or popular culture. So – that’s a lot of words to say I’m absolutely unqualified to write about other people’s struggles, or the causes by which someone might choose to harm themself.

I was, however, for a long time, married to someone who would threaten self harm unless I complied with his wishes; who did, break his own arm pushing his fist through a wall to make his point one late evening; who did hit his face hard enough to bruise…everything when telling me all the ways I was a terrible person and all the ways I need to change myself to make him happy. Who pointed guns. Who hid in closets with guns threatening his own life. Who got in a car with a gun and drove away. Who took a gun into the woods and told me not to try to find him.

Who admitted, coolly and calmly on another quiet afternoon that he did all those things to get me to do what he wanted. Who, in each and every example shared above, would be living his very best life shortly after getting what he wanted. Me.

That’s not self harm. That’s abuse, manipulation and control. It’s a sick way of establishing ownership.

The beautiful young woman who, today, during a quiet conversation about prayer, very lightly – like gossamer silk – touched on her own healing path and how hard it was to verbalize prayers that forgave herself, that admitted to her own inner pain, that showed tremendous strength in her calm acceptance and openness of her own struggles with loving herself.

That is someone we should celebrate, love, embrace, hold and support.

And this evening, while I sit – alternating between nagging my children to do their chores, researching images for a private project, and trying to mentally tease out a solution to a logic-puzzle at work… my mind started wandering back to that oh, so gently voiced discussion of love and forgiveness.

And I remembered.

I remembered the self-loathing, shame, and embarrassment I felt every time I let myself be touched. Or worse, every time I had no control but quietly accepted what was demanded. Every time I gave in to demands to behave or be a certain way. I remembered how much every cell in my being wanted to strap on my shoes, and disappear. Walk away. Walk into the forest and let nature take its course.

I would deny forever that it was suicide I contemplated. I had no plans, I didn’t fantasize about guns or drugs or jumping off of cliffs; my only plan was to disappear. Hiking was my daily solace.

Every single day, rain or shine, for years and more years I was hiking into the wilderness alone. I purposely chose trails that people didn’t walk frequently. Where it wasn’t uncommon to find a bear, to have trees falling, where it would be easy to twist an ankle and no one find you.

I found God in the wilderness. Looking up one day as the first kiss of snow veiled the world, seeing the gentle soft flakes falling between the darkening branches of the tall cedars and hemlocks, I felt Him more intensely than ever before in my life. I fell to my knees and cried and began to try, earnestly, to learn more from my church and parish. To listen when my children brought His word home. I began to pay attention to all the ways in my life God showed me he loved me and kept me from harm. I cried a lot. I still do. I think my internal self-loathing may never fully go away; but the tears are washing away the worst of it all.

Reflecting today on those years of disappearing into the woods; those nights crying myself to sleep; the desire to walk away and the strong, pervading belief that the world would be better off without me – I maybe never cut myself. I never experienced an eating disorder. But self-harm, I think, comes in so many different forms and ways. We don’t always see the people crying for help; who need to be believed. Who need to be helped.

I’m lucky. God was watching always, and He put people in my path to make sure I didn’t walk off the earth but instead found the embrace of friendship, companionship, camaraderie, and meaningful, fulfilling work.

I’m not sure if once you’ve opened the doors into the inner recesses of your heart and faced a darkness so deep, so horribly inviting, that you can ever fully re-close them. That tantalizing whisper that you’re not good enough, that you don’t belong, is always around the next turn of a phrase, the next sideways glance, the next rumor or mean spirited person who senses your inner conflicts and discomfort.

I do believe, though, that God is there. His hand a hairsbreadth away from your own. Willing and ready to pull you up, to be there. To show you the other path, to keep showing you a path to safety and surety. To remind you that even in darkness, He is there and ready to hold you.

I pray that young beautiful woman, whose life is stretched before her as a beautiful tapestry of pathways, that she, too, always remembers that no matter what challenges are in front of her, God is standing there ready to carry her over the rough patches, to be her constant companion as her life moves steadily forward. In her I see strength and commitment to supporting others to not walk the path she has known.

I pray that I find a way to support others who have walked a similar path to my own and who haven’t yet found sure footing in a world that does love them and needs them. I pray to find a way to show others that no matter how hard their trauma is, or how deep their darkness goes, that God is still there, quietly, with a path made just for them that leads always back to Him.