I pulled back on the bow, sighted the target annnnd… released.

Nup.

Katniss Everdeen I am NOT.

I’m a fairly co-ordinated person and usually pick up most sport techniques quickly. But today wasn’t proving to be one of those moments. We were camping with our family in the rainforest, and as part of the weekend’s activities, we’d decided a spot of archery would keep all 17 of us entertained.

Being a shared campsite activity, we lined up under the guidance of our ranger and took turns with our ‘well loved’ arrows, blasting them toward the cork target positioned on an easel just a short distance away. The distance was for the kids of course, not the inept adults.
But ultimately it didn’t matter how close that target was, I wasn’t hitting anything… other than the ground way over there somewhere.

I studied the bow. Maybe I needed more tension. It could be my stance; I’ll adjust my elbow next time… yet everyone else was hitting or getting very close to the target.

Finally, an arrow burst forth from my bow, and it headed straight to the target! I didn’t care where it landed, as long as it did! My arms raised by my sides in preparation for my victory whoop!

Instead, it did the most bizarre detour I’d ever witnessed.

From its trajectory straight toward the target it pushed sideways, went around the target, and then re-joined its original trajectory on the other side, continuing until it slowed and landed in the dirt. 

My mouth dropped open, and I blinked hard.

I turned to see if anyone else was watching.

My adult daughter caught my eye, her face as surprised as mine.

“Did you see that?” we both said.

She laughed. “That was like something out of a cartoon!”

No one else saw it. The kids were busy chasing each other, giggling and playing with their bows. The other adults were chatting or enjoying the view. We were the only ones to share that weird moment, and I knew I needed to pay it some attention.

On the walk back to the campsite, thoughts tumbled through my brain about what I’d focussed on recently. I also looked for clues in what I’d been concentrating on that morning. Targets. Aiming. Stance. Patience. Disappointment. Frustration. But nothing seemed to fit.

If I couldn’t raise a connection, I tried to think of someone who might offer me some insight.

Who could I explain it to?
More importantly, how could I explain something unbelievable, and then expect someone to believe I’m telling the truth?

Ah, a light switched on inside me.
Finally, my bullseye!

Without my daughter as a witness, I wouldn’t be telling a soul about the arrow’s strange behavior. I knew that much about myself. I’d been conditioned from an early age that there’s simply no point discussing things that can’t be proven. In order to be believed, one must have weighed and debated their case from every angle, or expect to be ripped to shreds. Silence is a less brutal choice. Denial a much safer refuge.

But wait.

My heart raised a gentle question.

Does that mean a moment is any less true if no one was there to witness it?

If that arrow casually sauntered around the target and I was the only person there, it still happened, right?

Is truth what actually happened, or only what we agree upon with others?

I’m not discussing philosophical truth here, just the kind of truth that without a witness becomes too easy to dismiss as imagined, mis-seen, or not important. These moments in our lives, these little snatches of truth that we experience; the surprising, the delightful, and the sinister that we minimize and deride.

Some aren’t so small either, life-changing experiences that never see the light of day. After all, we think, who’d believe me?

Do they cease to be truth without a witness?

Do our stories stop being true when no one believes us?

Gaslighting doesn’t only occur within intimate relationships. Our truth can be challenged in the corporate world, in families, friendships, and with horrifying consequences at societal levels where truth is denied for many.

The lack of a supportive witness does not make the truth less true.

Reality remains, often deep within us.

The emotional pain of self-imposed denial or dismissal waits around inside our bodies for acknowledgement. It waits for someone to bear witness, to acknowledge it as truth.

When we choose to listen to another’s pain, we become witnesses to their stories and they to ours. Together we make our stories true. We solidify the unspoken.

Did that arrow behave in a way that was seemingly unbelievable?

Yes, it did. 

And it behaved that way whether a witness was there or not.

That’s the essence of the truth.

It is.

It exists whether we discuss it or not.

But in speaking our truth it becomes real; an entity.

And something we can’t ignore.

Lisa King is a speculative fiction author and amateur nature photographer who lives in Brisbane, Australia. When she’s not writing, you can find her hiking though lush rainforests, taking notes for her novels and capturing the diverse and complex ecosystems where she feels most at home.

“Explore your humanity, one story at a time.”

Lisa loves to transport readers to worlds where the heroes have everyday struggles, flaws and inner conflicts, and the natural world is part of the nurturing and healing process. As an advocate for education and empathy for trauma survivors, Lisa hopes her books will encourage readers on their own healing paths.