Healing Fire
By: Cary Bach Donahou
Tags: Sexual Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Metoo, PTSD

My grandma, my mom’s mom, made so many afghans. I have memories of so many. I don’t remember her making me any specific one, but I have always loved a specific green one. Every granny square is made of different colors, definitely a scrap blanket. But it was joined with an Emerald green color.

I have loved this blanket my whole life. It’s in pictures on the back of couches that show me as a baby, so probably older than I am. I’ve been carrying it around for years. A physical object that comforted me in my childhood.

As, many of you may have guessed, I’m in the middle of some serious root work. No longer just surface level shit to keep myself sane and moving forward. This is the really real stuff. At any rate another memory surfaces and I realize I love this fucking blanket because when my dad was sexually abusing me, I could distract myself by looking at the different color patterns and focusing on that! There was another blanket, too. Another Granny square one, more uniform colors, and joined with black yarn. I have no idea what became of that one after my mom died, but I took the green one and have been carrying it around for years.

I had no idea this memory would surface. I felt torn. This blanket meant comfort, but it also was comfort from something so fucking horrific I had to find comfort in a blanket and all it’s colors. This blanket was witness to my abuse. So many mixed emotions in this. I have had this blanket sitting in the corner for months since this memory surfaced. I felt I should unravel it, burn it, and bury the ashes, then grow dandelions over it!

But, the black one, no idea where it is, and I haven’t specifically remembered anything about it, other than it existed. However, I remember a dream I had in my 20’s. My dad was in it and he was laying in a big bed covered in that black granny square blanket, and he was trying to seduce me and get me into bed. I hate dreams like that, it’s as if I was a little kid again and I didn’t want to be abused, but I did want my daddy to love me… so fucking sick.

Anyhow, I’ve been sitting on this blanket thing for months, I thought maybe I would unravel it with one person, burn it with another and then bury it with yet another. Three amazing women who I can count on in this journey of life and who each play a part in my healing and I am so fucking grateful for! I just knew though that it was time to do something about it. I felt the time was right, finally.

One of these women is out of state, the other was going out of town and yet I knew in my soul, that they both had already played their part by accepting to help in my healing, and that was enough. So Friday night, I went with the amazing woman who was meant to be the one, and we cut that mother fucking blanket up and burned it. So fucking satisfying.

I burned the only physical object in my possession that was present for the abuse. That’s fucking huge, people. I did a little Marie Kondo on it. I thanked the blanket for the comfort it offered, and released the energy it stored. I no longer have to rely on a blanket to make me feel safe. There is nothing my dad can do to me now that I am not able to protect myself from. I thought of that black blanket burning as well, and I watched every square burn and felt a huge release! Also a lot of satisfaction.

“Fuck you, dad”

“You don’t own me”

“you can’t hurt me anymore”

“you did it”

“you are responsible”

“I will not carry your guilt, or shame”

I have so much more work ahead of me. There’s really no end to this journey. It’s not something I can erase, but it is something I can understand and not pass on to my daughters. I am a cycle breaker.