DAVAO CITY (MindaNews / 14 March) — At first, I still felt reluctant and wary — like someone standing at the edge of the sea, testing the water with a cautious toe, unsure whether it is too cold or too warm, before finally surrendering to its embrace.
More often than not, even when a wound appears healed on the surface, the lightest touch can awaken a pain that lives more in the mind than in the body. But then, is that not precisely what healing demands?
While psychotherapy seems to offer a genuine path toward wholeness, it has been, for me, a deeply painful one — because it requires confronting the inner “demons” that have long been dormant in the quietest corners of my soul, unwilling to be disturbed, and equally resistant to releasing the person I once was. The decision to pursue healing was a tug-of-war within myself; part of me had already begun to accept defeat, while the greater part refused to surrender.
Easily Shaped Like Clay
It came as a surprise, even to my stubborn self, that I could be so clearly “read.” The crocodile I fashioned from clay with my untrained hands could just as easily have passed for a lizard — yet as it made its rounds, everyone agreed: it was a crocodile. It retained its essential character, and the small refinements made to its surroundings only enhanced it further. I was relieved that it did not appear menacing, unlike some of the other figures in the group (hehe).
That exercise became an affirmation of the clarity still present in my mind — a mind I sometimes doubt, especially in solitude, when the tendency to drift back toward unresolved and unsettling memories threatens to take hold.
It reminded me, at least, that I can still be who I once was — capable, engaged, and present — even as I feel the growing weight of a body that is no longer agile like it used to be. The desire to recapture the energy of my younger years remains a quiet tension within me, though I continue to remind myself to embrace who I am today.
Why Arduous?
It may sound like an overstatement, but healing has been one of the most difficult undertakings of my life. It demands focus and discipline, and for someone who had never engaged in formal psychotherapy — a process that asks you to see yourself simultaneously as both enemy and ally — the challenge is immense. And yet, it has also been a blessing, perhaps a quietly answered prayer, helping me untangle the web of emotions I had long been unable to express openly.
Dark, but Not Frightening
One of the greatest obstacles to speaking my truth has been the fear of losing composure — of the emotion surging forward, uncontainable, as words rise from the deepest part of me. I have said that writing my story means reclaiming what was taken from me; it means standing in resistance against the dark forces that sought to silence my voice. In doing so, I can become my own again. And when I said those words aloud, tears threatened to overwhelm me.
In an effort to let in some light, the process of painting became another unexpected and delightful discovery — remarkable for someone who had never held a brush before. I believe it was the quiet aspiration I had carried since beginning this journey that found its expression in an image of a starry night, illuminating the darkest seasons of my life.
I had not known, truly, that one could paint such a beautiful dream in just a few strokes on a canvas. It humbled me to discover a hidden capacity I had unknowingly set aside. Drawing that gentle shaft of light into a single candle flame made the experience all the more fulfilling.
Sparking Hope
Though we had been forewarned of the celestial display that would slowly unfold in the dark night sky, its arrival felt like a perfect and symbolic closing of a chapter in my life. I whispered a quiet prayer of gratitude for the women gathered around me — fellow journalists, truth-tellers who have weathered life’s challenges both great and small, visible and invisible, and who have each, in their own way, touched lives profoundly.
I am especially and continually grateful to a friend who has never left my side since I immersed myself in living my craft. She has given me more than a sister ever could — standing by me through my most harrowing experiences at the hands of soulless people, and continuing, even now, to nurture the life that had been slowly.
I can only pray for her fervently each day, knowing I can never fully repay such generosity of spirit and purity of heart. Beyond all the turbulence this beautiful, maddening world is enduring, I believe God is holding us together — to continue His works of mercy and love, however small and seemingly insignificant our efforts may appear in the vast expanse of this universe.
And because women journalists are uniquely gifted with resilience and an abiding goodness toward humanity, we will keep moving forward — no matter what challenges lie ahead.
(Gingging Valle is a freelance writer who has been a community journalist in Davao for more than four decades. She has written for Mindanews and other print and digital news outfits.)
[BAYI-LINES is part of the Safety Training Series of the Media Impact Philippines project implemented by the Mindanao Institute of Journalism (MinJourn), publisher of MindaNews, in partnership with the International Media Support (IMS) with funding from the European Union and the Danish International Development Agency (DANIDA) under the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Denmark.]
