Once you have named the hurt and grieved its existence, you can stand up

I watched the first version of my story video a couple of days ago; a video of me sharing about my cult experience. Before clicking on the small play arrow, I set my mind on simply watching the footage the first time through, saving editing notes for subsequent viewings. This wasn’t hard to do, as I became lost in the imagery, the narrative, the piano, and the memories. I felt every scene and every word.

My heart hurt for hours afterwards. Hours that followed me into the next morning.

Earlier today, I watched it again when I shared it with a friend, who expressed her emotion in streaming tears. Again, my heart hurt.

A few hours ago, I had a call with the video production team to run through the editing plan, ensuring we were on the same page with the pending alterations. Clarifying and confirming understanding so that the truth of my story would be captured and presented as best as possible. I did not even watch it this time, and yet again, my heart hurt.