The Aftermath

The Aftermath

There's something nobody tells you about surviving a traumatic night. Eventually... the morning after is over, people sober up, some apologize, some don't.Ultimately, at the beginning and end of every single day, we all have a choice to make.

Do we move forward...Or don't we?

The bruises eventually fade. The shock wears off. Life has the audacity to keep moving like nothing ever happened, while you're sitting there thinking;

"Hold up... this literally just happened."

Not yesterday in the grand scheme of life, not years ago, hours ago. Or in my case... just four days ago, it's literally Tumbler Tuesday.

The first one in August at that.

So, no... I'm not going to beat around the bush.

This weekend was supposed to be simple, in tandem with: fishing, laughing, maybe a little hanky panky. (We're adults. Mind your business.) I was supposed to come home with enough content to make editing my biggest problem.

And don't get me wrong...

I still got the content.

Because what you thought?

I wasn't the one acting a fool. I'm simply doing exactly what I said this blog would do, sharing my experience, so take from it whatever you want. Hell, ignore it if that's your thing.

But if you can learn something from my mistakes, or maybe even from somebody else's, then at least something good came from a weekend that could've gone a whole lot differently.

Contrary to what this story might sound like at times, I wasn't trapped, once I decided I'd had enough, getting off that damn boat and back onto solid ground wasn't the issue.

The issue was that two grown ass adults had somehow turned common sense into a group project...

...and I promise you, nobody was passing.

One minute I was recording a video talking about how genuinely happy I was, smiling, laughing, feeling like life was finally settling down.

Then, before that same day was even over, I was on the phone with my sister trying not to completely lose it because I was scared.

Not irritated, not angry, I was scared.

But somewhere between replaying everything that happened and trying to figure out what lesson I was supposed to take from it, my brain pulled out a quote I hadn't thought about in years.

"Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You."
— Dr. Seuss

I know...

Did this bitch really just quote Dr. Seuss? Absolutely.

Fight me.

Because wisdom doesn't stop being wisdom just because it came from a man who wrote about green eggs and ham.

At its core, that quote is a reminder that nobody gets to decide who I am except me.

Not fear, not alcohol, not someone else's bad decisions, not even a traumatic weekend.

I can't control what other people choose to do, I can only control whether I let it change who I choose to be.

And if there's one thing this weekend reinforced, it's this:

I still like the woman I see in the mirror, she stayed calm, she paid attention.

She knew when enough was enough and got herself home.

And now...

This is where we are.

I’m left yet again asking questions.

How the fuck can your entire reality shift in the span of a few hours? How can one conversation separate the happiest version of yourself from the one wondering if everyone you love is okay?

That's when I realized for me surviving the night wasn't actually the hard part.

The hard part started after.

When the adrenaline finally wears off.

When your body unclenches.

When your brain starts replaying everything like security footage, trying to figure out what was real, what wasn't, and whether you somehow missed all the warning signs.

That my friends is the aftermath.

Odly enough, that's also where recovery begins.

Which kind of brings me to the old Bible I'm repurposing into tumblers.

Here's the part that messed with me.

Days later after the fact, mere hours before finalizing only the second entry of Pages to Purpose, I started rereading what I'd already written, and caught myself thinking...

"Hold on...this is literally what just happened."

Same verses.

Same words.

Same Bible.

Completely different perspective.

Isn't it funny how life does that?

You can read something ten times and think you understand exactly what it's trying to say.

Then life hands you an experience you never asked for, and suddenly that eleventh reading feels like you're opening an entirely different book.

The words didn't change.

I did.

And somehow, that old Bible I've been carefully taking apart one page at a time ended up putting something back together inside of me.

Which means, every page I glue onto a tumbler doesn’t just carry Scripture, it carries a memory.

Some pages remind me of peaceful mornings. Others remind me of nights I never wanted to experience.

Some remind me that healing doesn't happen all at once.

These tumblers have become little time capsules: ink, paper, Scripture, and pieces of my own story sealed underneath resin forever.

It's funny.

When I first started this series, I thought I was simply rescuing an old Bible from falling apart.

Turns out...

God might be using that old Bible to keep me from falling apart instead.

And because life apparently has an incredible sense of humor...

The next morning, while cleaning up the chaos, I found this, which I’m sure will be some cosmic message from the universe but for now,  this man cut the damn cord to the rose ladies and gentlemen. The Rose. 

Which isn’t mine but my wifes, I’m entirely too sensitive for that thing, but nonetheless. He cut the fuxkng cord to the ROSE.

The ROOOSEEEEEE…. the little magnetic charging base for one of our toys, had somehow offended this man enough that instead of unplugging it...

He cut the damn cord.

Completely.

Right through it.

I wish I could tell you there was some logical explanation.

There isn't.

It's just... NOPE.

And honestly?

If I had to summarize this entire experience in one picture...

It would be that cord, trauma has a funny way of cutting the things that are supposed to recharge us. Our peace, our trust, our sense of safety, sometimes even our faith.

But here's the difference, unlike that cord...

We can be repaired, maybe not overnight, maybe not without scars, but we weren't created to stay broken.

So yes... I'll probably buy another charger. The cord is replaceable. The lesson isn't.

And every time I look at the tumblers wrapped in Bible pages, I'll remember that even on the days my faith, my relationship, and my belief in humanity were tested...

God never cut the cord.

He was the One still supplying the power when everything else had gone dark.