“I close my eyes and relish the sensation of the warm water as it falls from my shower head and slowly trickles down my body. I need a few more minutes just to stand here and relax before I begin the weekend camping trip to Lake Jocassee with my adventure group. Everything is packed, so I’m physically ready to go. But I have never completely finished the emotional unpacking of all the previous trips to this family vacation spot with a man who was as unpredictable as the violent storms that quickly appear from behind the mountains - displaying the power of their dark and menacing side.”

Journal entry - Lake Jocassee Family Vacation, 2011

     Every morning I take the manmade steps carved from the packed clay that lead to the water’s edge of Lake Jocassee. Coffee in hand, I begin my cleanup of the debris that has found its way to our tiny little beach behind the cabin.

I move heavy logs and pieces of wood. I scoop up twigs and leaves. It’s a cleansing for me from all the clutter and conflict that has gathered in my soul from the few days we’ve been here. I then sit to reflect on my vacation…my marriage…my choices in life.

     With every passing boat, the debris finds its way to me again. But it calms me because it’s an easy cleanup. It comes often, but the periods in-between are tidy and orderly. Perfectly clear water shows me exactly what’s underneath.

     Before I take a step, I know which rocks will cause me pain and those I can expect to be smooth and soothing. I notice where the lake begins its descent so I can brace myself for cooler waters. And I sense when I can no longer touch its sandy bottom and need to swim, hold on to an anchor, or just allow the water to take me and render the peace I long for in a world that knows nothing more.

The expansive body of indigo blue glass and the layers of colorfully painted mountain ranges that hugged it so closely offered everything in the way of a peaceful and reflective setting. But instead, each time I had vacationed here, the trip had been interspersed with purposeless screaming and cursing, angry fists forced their way through hollow doors. There was senseless pummeling between step-children I wanted so desperately to accept and love, along with belittling remarks directed towards me that required long solitary walks to cry and decide if I loved deeply enough to weather the damage that I knew couldn’t always be repaired.

     As soon as our adventure group put this trip together at Devil's Fork State Park on Lake Jocassee, I strategically chose my campsite. It was across the lake and the furthest away from the cabins I had always shared with my former husband, children, and multiple friends. I faced my tent towards the cove and focused my views across the water towards the mountains.

     So far, this strategy was working, and I hadn’t had one nostalgic moment since I arrived early that afternoon. The site was the largest of all the others and encompassed the point of the campground. Although I was sharing it with my friend, she and I agreed there was still plenty of room to invite everyone else over and make it the designated "Party on the Point” gathering spot for our nightly campfires.

     "Party on the Point" was an understatement. The light meals we had packed didn’t begin to absorb the alcohol we began to consume, which was completely out of character for us both. It had been a while since I had lived in the moment. I always worried about what people thought, and I kept my guard up so I wouldn’t give anyone a reason to whisper as I walked away. But I wasn’t with those types of people anymore. No one was judging me, and you could feel the unanimous acceptance of each of us.

     So I lived. I embraced the attention of a much younger man with no inhibitions and no regrets. I found joy in not having to search so hard to find honesty and trustworthiness. It was right here in this intimate group of amazing people.

     Still sluggish from our adventurous night, the sun rose early over the mountains the next morning and had to urge us to take advantage of its glory. We hiked the trails in search of the infamous (but very tiny) Bell Flower and took a leisurely paddle on the lake in my friend’s tandem kayak we had brought along. It was an effort to get it here, but necessary to maintain the confidence I’d been working so hard on to trust my own securing of such a large object on top of my car. And it was an important part of regaining some pieces of myself I had lost here over the years.

     While we marveled over the beautiful homes that dotted the edge of the lake and played with the wind to reach the other side, others in our group decided to enjoy the local festival and took a scenic boat tour of waterfalls and other areas of this seemingly edgeless bowl of crystal clear water.

     As our campfire group formed again for the second night, I opted for a calmer evening. We played cards and found humor in the mishaps of those who had fallen in the water or forgotten their tent poles. We tried hard to obey the ‘quiet hour’, but didn’t want our night to end. It was fun. Fun in the way vacations and weekend getaways are supposed to be. There was no anger or stress, no need to take a walk and gather myself back together…because no one was tearing me apart.

     Just as quickly as the weekend came, I realized it was over as I peered through the screen of my tent and once again watched the sky take on its soft, warm morning glow. I packed the last of my camping gear and walked to the edge of the water – knowing this was what I had needed to do for quite some time. I had been desperate to take back and claim a place whose beauty should have overshadowed any pain I had ever endured here.

     And it suddenly occurred to me that it wouldn’t be necessary to unpack the emotional bag I had been lugging around for years. The new friends I had met on this trip had already done that for me, and my bag was now empty. Worn out from years of holding more than I should have ever allowed myself to pack inside.

     So I left Lake Jocassee and watched my painful memories scatter themselves like ashes across the water and my empty bag sink deep into its heart. It was an amazing feeling knowing this special place could handle it. And I now have a much better understanding of what not to pack.