On April 16th, 2013 I found myself looking down a desolate street, filled with devastation that could only be seen by the remnants of debris floating across the pavement. It was a heart wrenching moment to only begin to realize the events that occured only a day prior that shook me to my core. As I stood amongst the flowers, reporters, mourners and security detail I recall finding a moment of peace in the music of a man sitting on the stairs of a building overlooking the scene. When I turned to walk I felt a tap on my shoulder. Once, twice and then a man's voice inquiring as to my willingness to answer a few questions. In those few moments a thought came across my mind..."It is not my story to tell." And so I walked away.
I had trained for a short period of time and stumbled into qualifying for the Boston Marathon in 2010. Through a series of events that could only be described as divine timing or divine intervention I found myself at the starting line in Boston in 2013. It was a cool, yet beautiful day for a race. The fans were nothing short of spectacular and encouraging. I held my pace for the first 18 miles than found my body beginning to fade into the fatigue and cramping that set in. As I had done many times before I promised my body that upon crossing the finish line I would check in with the med tent and recover alongside others who had succumb to the perils of running.
I could see the finish line, I walked, I ran, I walked some more and at last, I crossed that coveted finish line that so many runners long to cross. In the moment it was bitter sweet. I had finished but not in the time I hoped. Nevertheless I found my way to the medical tent which was just across the finish and made my way in. I was immediately attended to and within minutes found myself resting, waiting for fluid. And then it happened. The first thunder came in a wave that shook everything and everyone. It brought curiosity to the faces of those within the tent. And then again..boom. Shaking, rattling and instantly you knew what had occured. Sheer panic set in, fear like nothing I had ever felt before and desperation to escape. I watched as the volunteers quickly stepped into disaster and rescue mode. Within moments the first of the injured were brought in and instantly my life was changed. I had never been this close to tragedy and terror, yet so close to humanity at the same time.
I didn't speak about these events, or the death and devastation I witnessed in the victims eyes. I didn't share about the panic that came as I left the tent, running for my life as they shouted the possibility of a third bomb, and to finding my family whom I had no way of getting in touch with or being in a city on lock down for 3 days as they pursued those responsible. I suffered silently and kept the PTSD hidden inside. Why you might ask? Because someone else had it worse. It was their story, not mine. I wasn't physically injured or suffered the loss of a loved one, I walked away.
So why now, why bring this up 5 years later? It has taken me this long to heal my body, mind and spirit from the tragedy and ripple effects of that day. Within 5 months I was bed-ridden with illness, from which it took over a year to uncover the cause. The PTSD from this event, the trauma that was suffered, un-resolved trauma from a life lived had all manifested itself as dis-ease within my body.
Now saying that I am a survivor of the bombings is a privilege and every aspect of my being thanks me. I have honored who I am and my journey through the dark night. What I needed was to hold space for the emotions to flow and finding the lessons within to release. ThetaHealing® was the gift that gave me this opportunity. I now advocate and walk alongside others, through this modality, as they do the same.
The only person that needs to give you permission to heal is you.
Honor your journey. Allow the healing to happen and release the trauma that is holding you back.
Advocate for living your best life and finding inspiration in stories and personal journeys.