A Lexicon of
Healing. A journey towards home.
Shifts.
Back in
another life when I was learning to be a therapist, we talked about 1st
and 2nd orders of change. The
2nd order being those seismic shifts that rock the core of our
being. I am in the middle of one of
those great shifts right now.
This second
order change started innocent. I turned
40 and with it came a natural progression of mid-life questions and
reflection. Each decade has had a theme. The first, trapped. The second, escape into Jesus Freakdom. My twenties were marked by rebellion and wild
adventures. Thirties were about
ch-ch-ch-changes and a numbing business.
This decade was filled with tasks, small children, a religious
conversion, and major career change. And
now here I am fresh into a new decade wondering how I got here, what wisdom do
I wish to carry forth from the previous decades and what can be left behind as
scrap book photos.
Reflection led
to depression . A layer of
self-preservation peeled back uncovering an “it” of dread that was begging to
be heard. I had spent enough years in
both the client’s chair and the therapist’s chair to know I was at a
crossroads. I could continue to avoid and
numb the negative feelings or I could slow down, get quiet, and listen.
The rebellion
of my twenties and the habits of my thirties kicked in. Numbing seemed like a better option. I drank more than I should have when I was
not at work. At work, I hid behind
humor, sarcasm, and the hustle of working in a large trauma center. At home, I did what I needed to get through
life -- cook, clean, run kids to all their activities . . . stay busy and avoid
the “it.”
It took a
drunkard’s remorse to slap me in the face.
In one day, I consumed several drinks and never had a buzz. I was on a journey toward the drastic numbing
of alcoholism. Sliding down a slippery
slope of booze and overeating. I had
tried fasts, health challenges, and self-discipline, but I continued to run
into the same pattern of a few days, maybe even two weeks of staying on track,
but then off the wagon I would fall. I
was working to fix the outside of my “house” and all the while ignoring the
unnamed and undefined “it.” Ignoring what
the core of my being was needing most: to be heard, nurtured, and tended to with
compassion. I was tired of fighting and
pretending to be the strong one.
Unresolved wounds were oozing and it was time to open the bandages and
allow then to properly heal.
The
shift. I started talking to my small
tribe -- I confessed my life was spinning fast and I was close to losing
control. I took that first step of
admitted there was a problem. Once the
routine of the school year settled into place, I made a second step and made an
appointment to have someone help me hold enough safe space to allow the “it” to
make itself known.
A few weeks
ago, “it” started to whisper an old belief from the “Trapped” decade. It groaned out, “I cannot be loved.” My rational self knew this to be a belief
wrapped in old garbage with no validity.
Allowing the core of my being to undo this belief is another story and
requires another shift. This shift, while seismic, is happening slower. It is not a slap across the face, but rather
paying attention to the gentleness of a healing process.
More to come.
Thanks for sharing, Heather. Praying for your healing process. I miss you.
ReplyDeleteYes, thanks for letting us know. Also praying.
ReplyDelete