Emotional Strength with Autism and DID

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I stand at the foot of a mountain; there is a rapid river here, but it is a gentle stream higher up. It has just rained, and while the stream bed here is covered with slippery rocks, the stream bed above it is lined with softened silt. I see a winding path alongside the river; the ground ahead is a treacherous mire due to the downpour. The steep and muddy climb to reach the stream feels daunting. 

A satchel full of heavy limestone rocks is slung across my back; each one is a burden pulling me down. But despite the weight, my back and legs are strong; I know I can make the journey. I choose to struggle up the mountain because I know I can lay my burdens down at the stream's edge. 

The relief that will come from putting my burdens down requires strong hands. Yet the skin on my palms and fingers is tender, and the joints in my hands ache. But as I slowly progress up the hill, I tenderly touch one of my rocks. I feel its sandpaper roughness; it chafes my un-calloused hands and reminds me of the pain of progress. I observe and feel this pain, accept it, and then choose to remove my hand. 

When I touched the rock, I lost my footing in the mud, and yet, somehow, I took a step toward my stream. I keep reaching into my sack, and with every brush of my hand against a rock, I am another step further. 

The mountain is steep, the journey feels long, and my feet are caked in muck. But as I persist, my skin is becoming less tender; it no longer chafes. Now that my hands have toughened, I detect that these rocks are not only sandpaper rough, but they have jagged edges. If I had seized them too tightly, too soon, they would have lacerated my fragile skin. But now my skin is firmer, and I can grip these rocks.

Though my skin might have toughened, my muscles are weak, and my joints ache from the strain. Thus, I decided to simply hold the rocks in my grip. My muscles strengthen as I repeatedly clasp them, and I finally find myself at the edge of my stream. 

I am ready to confront these burdens head-on, so I grapple with each rock and then drop them into the cool silt beside the stream. One by one, I lay my burdens down. With each rock that I lift, my arms become more muscular. As my satchel empties, the stones seem lighter and easier to bear. 

Though the rain has passed, the stream bed is still soft, and my burdens sink into the silt. Within the stream bed, they chemically weather, dissolve, and become part of the mountain that has brought me to this place. 

With my empty satchel, I look back down the path and expect to see the mire that I had tread through. But something remarkable has occurred - the ground dried as I trudged, and the heft of my burdens pressed the path into firm, smooth, packed earth. I discovered that there is a newfound foundation beneath my feet. This once-daunting mountain is forever changed because of my resolve.