From Racheal's Desk
Sea of Pebbles
I start my day like any other, walking on a sea of pebbles. The sun is bright, though I can only feel its warmth on my back. It’s been decades since I’ve been able to stand up straight, and despite my best efforts, I live life hunched over, staring at the pebbles at my feet. Most of them are smooth, but every once in a while, one catches me by surprise - a sharp one that cuts my foot and causes me to curse whoever left it there. As I reach down to grab one such pebble, I notice that the sharpness stings more than it should, like it’s a reminder of something deeper.
I stop to examine it in my hand. I’ve been carrying a collection of these jagged rocks in my pocket, each one an irritant, a small wound, a cause for complaint. I’m always focused on the immediate pain they cause. I’ve gotten so used to dealing with them, smoothing their edges and tossing them back into the sea, feeling briefly relieved before the next one appears.
“Whew!” I think to myself. “If only the person who left this one here had been more responsible - if they had filed it down first, I wouldn’t have had to suffer.”
As I continue walking, this thought lingers. I take more pebbles from my pockets, carefully file down their edges, and toss them back into the sea. It feels like a ritual, a small act of control in a world that often feels out of my hands. But even as I do this, I notice the weight in my shoulders, the tension in my neck, the way I keep my gaze lowered, always focused on the next sharp stone.
When I reach the last pebble in my pocket, I stop and hold it in my hand, studying it for a moment. Suddenly, I realize I’ve been so fixated on these small, sharp stones that I haven’t noticed the enormous weight I’ve been carrying. I’m hunched over, not just from the pebbles I keep picking up but from something much larger. Something heavy.
I turn my head slightly, and for the first time, I realize I’m not just walking on a sea of pebbles - I’m carrying a massive boulder. It’s crushing me slowly. Each jagged rock that pricks my foot and each sharp edge I try to smooth is only a small part of the bigger burden. The boulder has been there for so long I didn’t even realize it was weighing me down, distorting my posture, keeping my gaze low, making me focus only on the immediate pain, the next pebble.
I stand there, stunned by the realization. The boulder - this heavy, unmovable weight - has been with me all along, planted squarely on my back. It’s been there since childhood, built up over years of trauma, unmet expectations, self-doubt, and the crushing pressure of trying to prove my worth to the world. I’ve been so consumed with the pebbles that I never saw the boulder. I’ve blamed the stones, cursed the people who left them, not knowing they came from that very weight I’ve carried.
The moment the thought illuminates my reality, I feel something shift inside me. The weight doesn’t feel so impossible anymore. It’s clear to me now that these sharp rocks - these painful moments - result from a much larger burden. And I can choose to do something about it.
For the first time, I stand up straight, and it feels strange - like my body doesn’t quite remember what it’s like to be free of the weight. The sun, no longer on my back, shines down in a way I haven’t felt in years. It warms my face, and I blink, trying to adjust to the brightness, to the clarity of seeing things differently.
As I look around, I realize that all the jagged rocks that have hurt me - and hurt others who stepped on them - came from that very boulder I’ve carried for so long. They were placed there by fears, regrets, trauma and old wounds I didn’t know how to heal. And now I see that the boulder doesn’t have to stay there. I don’t have to carry it anymore.
With a deep, steadying breath, I reach down and release the pebble from my hand, letting it fall back into the sea. And then, without hesitation, I turn my back to the stones, to the burden, and take my first step forward—unburdened.
I walk with my head held high, feeling the weight of the world lifting with every stride. The horizon, once distant and blurred by my hunched posture, now seems wide open, full of possibilities. For the first time in decades, I move with ease, not weighed down by the past but lightfooted by the freedom I’ve only just begun to discover.
And at that moment, I knew that I was finally free to stand in the sun and walk my own path.
About this piece
I’m Racheal Blackmore, a writer and advocate who spent years trapped in an abusive marriage. In April 2022, after 18 years of struggle, I walked away for the seventh and final time, determined to rebuild my life and reclaim my freedom.
Sea of Pebbles was written months before I left, but as I reflect on it now, it feels more true than ever. What I didn’t fully understand then is how deeply the weight of my past was impacting me, how much I’d been carrying without even realizing it.
Now, as a survivor, I’m on a path of healing, rediscovery, and empowerment. Through my writing, I aim to raise awareness about the harsh realities of domestic violence and sexual assault and to remind others that they, too, can break free. The journey is long, but the sun is finally shining on my face again, and I’m walking my own path.