Five years have passed since I was attacked by a hawk. I have learned a lot about trauma since then. That it is not so much time that heals, but love – from myself, my family, kindhearted friends, and when I was finally ready, from the one who kissed my wounds. Also, that healing is painful. We’re talking flashbacks, numbness and hypervigilance. There are days I’ll be hopping through the forest, when I am suddenly scared out of my wits by a shadow, run home to my oak tree and hide trembling in a corner of the trunk, enveloped by the darkness of piercing memories. I can hear the raccoons playing outside, inviting me for a game of acorn spinning – as I lie under a blanket of leaves and try to breathe. It is difficult sometimes to open up about what is going on and let others in, because trust is one of the things that I lost in the incident. But I have also learned that I am stronger for it. The wound is the place where the light enters you. And with every step my light is getting brighter.
