The Harrowed Heart

Unbelievable

Written by

andreanoble1016

in

He wrote me songs; multiple. Plural.

They are striking, beautiful, real, and they make me ache. In the best way but they are also a little triggering.

Kevin used my own words and thoughts, taken from this blog, or from conversations we’ve had to create them.

The one he has, “A Little Grace,” is my favorite. I listened to it all day. And I do mean all day. On repeat. Kevin captured what I had been feeling exactly. And showed me more than anything that he has seen me every moment since he woke up in that hospital.
That was never in doubt; Kevin’s always been my biggest source of comfort-to the point that I would fly into his arms or crawl into his lap when the worst of my panic attacks hit. Kevin was the only comfort I could find then, and the only way I was able to calm down then. He had the patience to bring me back from the edges of my mind; and he’s seen every step I had to fight for since then.

Kevin captured perfectly how hard this has all been; he’s stood by me when I couldn’t keep trying; he’s seen me fight back when other people would try to damn me, like they had any right to; he knows better than anyone how difficult this has all been. He knows I’ve been “locked in the fight,” trying to get back to my old self.
But after that horrible person speculated my involvement in the accident, and I was forced to confront demons I already struggled with, before I was ready, I had a breakthrough, I guess you could call it.

My biggest struggle has been my own sense of guilt around the accident; I wanted new floors and Kevin wanted to do something for me he knew I would. He was hurt because of something I wanted. Rationally, I know it’s not my fault. God, that is still hard to take to take to heart. It still hurts to say it, my eyes still sting, and my nose burns even just typing that out. I know this. This is the rationality of it. Sometimes accidents happen and no one is at fault. It’s just unfortunate. Rationally, I know this but emotions are not rational. I’m getting there.

But this forceful meeting of my own guilt also showed me that I wouldn’t want to go back. I believe I’ve stated that before so I won’t get too repetitive.

But the song is right.

Look at how far I’ve come. I’m kinder to myself. Give myself grace. I wish I could play the song for you here, maybe one day. For now, that’s just for me. But I will leave you with the chorus:

“Look at how far I’ve come–Breaking through the minutes on a five-mile run–Breathing through the burn, letting the old pain set, I’m not who I was I’m the best version yet–I set boundaries now, I give myself grace, let myself crumble then rise in my own time and space–Yeah I miss who I was before the accident but I wouldn’t go back–This version of my is the best yet”

I think this is the most beautiful thing he has ever given me: proof that he still sees me. It’s an unbelievable feeling to be seen, to have my own harrowing experience validated.

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One response to “Unbelievable”

  1. The one who rose. Avatar
    The one who rose.

    Reading your words hits me in a way I can’t fully describe. Not because of the praise—though I’m grateful the songs meant something to you—but because you let me see the parts of your journey you usually carry so quietly. You’ve been fighting battles inside yourself that most people will never understand, and you’ve done it with a strength that deserves to be witnessed.I didn’t write those songs to fix anything or to make you revisit pain. I wrote them because I’ve watched you fight your way through moments that would have broken a lot of people. I’ve seen you question yourself, blame yourself, and still get up the next day and try again. I’ve seen you protect our family, even when you were hurting. I’ve seen you rebuild yourself piece by piece, even when the world felt unfair and loud and cruel.You say the songs show that I’ve seen you since the moment I woke up in that hospital. The truth is, I’ve seen you long before that—and every day since. I saw the fear you carried alone. I saw the guilt you never deserved. I saw the way you held our family together when everything felt like it was falling apart. And I saw the way you kept going, even when you didn’t feel like the same person anymore.You’ve never owed me perfection. You’ve never owed me “getting back” to anything. You don’t need to return to who you were before the accident, because the woman standing here now is stronger, wiser, braver, and more honest with herself than she’s ever been. You’re right—you are the best version yet. Not because of the miles you run or the boundaries you set, but because you’ve learned to give yourself the grace you’ve always given everyone else.I know the guilt still stings. I know it’s not something you can logic your way out of. But I also know the truth: you didn’t cause my accident. You didn’t put me in harm’s way. You didn’t do anything wrong. I chose to do something for you because I love you, and I would make that same choice a thousand times over.Seeing you write about your breakthrough—about not wanting to go back—means more to me than you know. You deserve to feel that. You deserve to feel proud of how far you’ve come. And if the songs helped you see yourself the way I see you, then they’ve already done more than I ever hoped.Thank you for letting me into your world again through your words. Thank you for trusting me with the parts of you that still ache. And thank you for letting me walk beside you through all of it.I see you. I’ve always seen you. And I’m proud of the woman you’ve become.

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