The Space Between

I had a space between my ears; it was empty. Or so I thought.

I spent years conditioned to believe that whatever I had rattling around in there was useless, and definitely didn’t allow for my own thinking. In fact, whatever rattled around in there rendered my mouth useless, too. It seemed that, even though I had graduated with honours and headed to college a year prior to when I should have, sometime between when I met my first husband and we got married, it melted. I’m not entirely sure how I didn’t feel it turning into sludge as the weeks went by, and no one is really quite sure how I let that happen. My sludge brain made a family, brought little ones up and they mostly manage to function like normal human beings, except sometimes, like in the morning, or bedtime, or lunch time...OK, all the time. But basically, I raised small chimpanzees and they are doing just fine.

Then, one day, something changed. I had a thought (with my previously rendered useless brain). I thought to myself: Why am I doing this? Why am I waking up and going to sleep wishing I wasn’t there. Why was I a ghost? Why did I fake it? Why did I lie?

My arm hurt. Days before, it had been twisted. I fell, of course, because that was the easiest excuse. I had been curled up in the bathroom the night prior, after failing to be asleep before he got home. I should have known better. I tried, but it was my job to do as I was told. I was to obey my husband. I was to cherish my marriage. The same marriage he valued less than all those other women he was able to get away with seeing. Did I know? Yeah, I did. Am I ashamed of that? No. I did what I needed to to stay alive. I did make choices I regret, and I face those consequences. I did it to stay alive, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let someone else chastise me for making sure my kids didn’t end up alone in this world with that man.

My brain started turning again, achy from the atrophy I had managed to allow it. It hurt to think, it hurt not to think, and my brain couldn’t process things anymore. I had forgotten how to get from point A to point B in a thought process. I wasn’t sure I could. It hurt; I couldn’t focus on a goal or an end game. I knew I needed to allow my brain to work, but it felt like my arm every time it was casted, then I had to start using it again. It cramped up. I wanted to put the splint back on, I wanted to allow it to continue its slow descent until there was nothing left for me. It was weak and tired easily. Thinking was just something I had to learn how to do, like a baby learns how to walk. And I fell—I fell so many times. Then, suddenly, one day my brain didn’t hurt anymore; it was clear. I could process, and when I couldn’t, I knew I needed enough space to let it work. I afforded myself that luxury because, after all, it had been seven years since I used it. I had to remind myself that it took time. I retrained my brain because, apparently, as hard as it is to think, it’s harder to link your brain back to your mouth. When you're torn down again, your mouth forgets how to work. Sometimes, when you'er overloaded, it does the same. My mouth opened, but somehow the volume button was muted with my truth stuck inside. Sometimes I speak my truth, to turn around and find that my truth can be easily trampled on by someone else’s lies. Even still, though I realize that my truth is out in the open, my brain can be tricked into thinking it was all make believe. Because I simply believe that it doesn’t matter how I use my truth, my brain remembers it was told to behave. If that wasn’t enough, my chimpanzees come home with a tongue in cheek comment of “you really better listen." Now, I teach those children that their minds are their greatest achievements; they can use them to speak the truth, but they must never lie. Their brain is a sword and it is also a pillow. It’s a hug while at the same time it can scald the hands of those who misuse it.

Use that brain. Tell your truth. Teach your children their thoughts and words are important, no matter what, because one day, your children may be me, and making sure they know that their brains and mouths are theirs to own and no one else’s is more important than creating an army of people who do as they are told.