The Sacred Seasons of Healing

“I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says "Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.”

― Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass

Fall has always been my favorite season.  I love the way the sun paints orange through the evening skies, the unpredictable colors that wave from tree branches, the way Summer lingers and flirts with Fall so she can stay a bit longer to dance and sing with the birds who like her best.  All Seasons are sacred, though. Each whispers incredible wisdom. Each longs to be noticed and experienced.  Each stays for a while and then exits, leaving us with an incandescent imprint in our lives, captured by memory.

I think life imitates nature.  I know my journey through healing has been a walk through Seasons.  During the early steps of my journey, when the pain was too intense and powerful to even feel sometimes, Spring buds began to emerge within.  So slowly, these tiny buds of Strength began to sprout, giving me just enough Hope to open the door behind me, letting the pain and memories from the past enter my heart.  I was in a whirlwind of Agony, but Hope kept me grounded and focused on my healing path, and I finally had the strength to walk forward.

Summer came, and the sprouts of Hope multiplied into Courage in such great abundance!  The Agony I was so very afraid to feel suddenly had opponents - gifts from my Sacred Summer - and I no longer had to face Agony empty-handed; I was armed with something much more powerful.  Agony decided to try to fool me by relentlessly cycling through Grief, Anger, Helplessness, and Sadness, but I had Hope and Courage with me and I knew I was stronger and much more resilient than Agony could ever be.

Fall emerged, fully prepared with the beautiful colors of Acceptance, Surrender, Love and Faith.  Summer lingered, as she tends to do, so Hope and Courage joined the other beautiful colors as I continued to walk my journey.  Agony continued to strike at every opportunity, but Acceptance diffused its power, Surrender allowed me to look Agony in the face, and Love carried me through the worst of times.  Faith picked me up when I fell, and pointed me in the right direction even though Agony’s street signs were at times right in front of me, trying to trick me in the wrong direction.

I am entering the Winter of this healing cycle.  I feel myself releasing what no longer serves me, ridding myself of emotions and thoughts that my earlier Seasons have helped me finally face and work through.  I see the beauty of the White Quilt that will cover me this season, keeping me warm with Peace and Wisdom. 

Earlier today, as I reflected on my journey, I decided to step outside to watch the white falling snow.  I closed my eyes, just for a second, to remember the orange warmth of Fall.  Winter softly whispered to me, “Don’t wish me away too soon.  Try to listen to the Stillness I have for you.”  With that, I suddenly realized that I’m exactly where I need to be - and I am finally free.

 

My latest watercolor, 'Seasons'

 

 

I Can Live Freely Now, the Shame is Gone…

Stigma. What a grumpy word. Its 16^th century Greek origin basically implies some sort of branding or mark. Our culture carelessly slings it around unconsciously and in silence, directing it at the innocent and the gravely misunderstood. Because Stigma is also of weak character, it hides behind, and then latches on to, other words and situations so it can create a more painful result. It gets most of its power from Ignorance and Judgment - two of its greatest allies - and it thrives when it can derail truth within large societal groups – what it calls ‘Norms.’ Stigma is hard to beat when it has such strong allies, but when it becomes separated from these ‘friends’, it loses its power to hurt and be mean. Additionally, Compassion and Understanding can offset its dominance; they stand up to that Bully.

Stigma has followed me around as long as I can remember. In the shadows of my childhood, it waited patiently to linger in and create an environment of great pain. My Mom’s mental illness provided a prime breeding ground, especially when it could come out and “play” with its cousins, Shame and Silence, who, together, created a trifecta dust storm of emotional anguish causing blindness to the path to a healthy and whole psyche. I was aShamed of my home life, of where I came from, of who I could become. I was Silenced because of the Shame and Ignorance surrounding mental illness at that time. Stigma kept me prisoner to a life of secrets and fear. Being seen felt too scary. Being heard felt even scarier. I ran to my social circles and sports teams to distract me from the agony at home, and to also shine a light away from the Terrible that was happening between the walls in my home. In many ways those outlets saved my life; in other ways, they prevented me from developing into my true self as I lived and developed via dual “lives”, two separate existences, both real and fake, all at once. My true feelings were blurred as they collided between my inner and outer worlds, continuously…..

As a grown woman, I have finally found my place within myself. As I hold Compassion and Understanding close, I am free to live authentically, feel more deeply. After working through my pain and listening to my own truthful narrative, Shame has retreated and Stigma does not scare me anymore; I finally found the inner strength and the voice to stand up to that Bully. Join me. Let’s spread Compassion and Understanding into our world, our communities, our families. Let’s deflate Ignorance and Judgment – let’s make them powerless. Let’s tell Stigma it can go to Hell; let’s give it something to really be grumpy about.

The Double Paradox of Letting Go

Truly letting go is not what I thought it would be. It is not what we read about in romance novels or hear in popular song lyrics. We often see and hear the words: “Just let it go.”  Someone in my life even recently wrote me, “It’s sad that your healing is taking so long.” Life’s journey to healing and Letting Go is not a race, and does not travel on a linear timeline with a finite ending for someone else to dictate. No. The healing path is profoundly personal, incredibly arduous, and excruciatingly painful. Finally arriving at that place of Letting Go is transformative, but not in a glamorous or obvious way. It happens as you close your eyes and feel the breeze flow through your hair; it happens as you experience profound emotions between your purgatory states of deep soulful dreams and timid wakefulness; it waits patiently and whispers to you softly as you drive to get groceries or walk barefoot alone in the grass. Truly Letting Go requires a surrendering to both what’s next and what was. It is a welcoming softness in the blinding brightness of grief, a gentle pull from holding hands with the past, and a transition to glow from the jarring colors of longing. It is quietly cathartic, and when you walk with it, the door to healing cracks open. A little. Only you can feel it. Only you can know it. Only you can unmask its potential in you. Yes, this Letting Go is yours and only yours. When it’s time, you will know. It is your gift to open.

For so long, I didn’t want to let go. Oh, God, I didn’t. I needed to hold on because it was the only way I knew to keep the memories alive within me. What would it mean if I let go? Could I survive without this grip, this longing? What if I let go and it all disappears?  What would I do then? For so long, I couldn’t imagine letting go. Then, one day, I just knew what I had to do. I felt it; the first Paradox. The Letting Go meant that I could finally be released. Me. With my release, Truth enthusiastically, and finally, had its opening.  By holding on, I was deaf to what Truth had been waiting to share with me all along; I could finally hear Truth’s wisdom without the gripping sounds of holding on. Letting Go does not mean saying goodbye forever; as a second Paradox, it means living more present in your days so you can experience the very love you were trying to hold on to - but with exponentially more intensity and authenticity. Truth is so damn smart. Brilliant, actually. I always try to listen to Truth’s calm language, but sometimes I just can’t hear it over the noise of my emotions. Well, at least I know Truth is there and it will take advantage of any opening I give it. Mostly, I know it will never betray me, leave me stranded, or lead me astray. With a name like that, for goodness sake, how could it?

Dedicated to my little Sis, M.

 

A watercolor painting, "Letting Go."

 

Lucid Insanity and a very Splendid Darkness

I read somewhere that true transformation can only occur after a walk through singular darkness and abysmal pain. Who the hell made that rule? Why can’t transformation and awakening occur alongside a sparkly cloud of butterflies, shimmering angels, and miles of sunset light flowing through our fingertips? I wish I knew. God, I do. What I do know is that there is a pain so deep, and a place so dark, it kidnaps our human spirit and forces us through a solitary “acid wash” of agony, vulnerability, and anguish. I know because I’ve been there. I’ve walked the torturous tightrope, I’ve sobbed the dangerous mile. I’ve lucidly touched the brink of insanity, and I’ve seen a darkness so splendid I had to shield my eyes from it. It is there and it is real. I can’t not remember it, because it is now part of my memory; it is now a part of me.

Looking back, I realize the very moment that the cloud of my Mom’s suicide finally lifted was the very same moment that the “acid” began leaking through my walls of consciousness. Because this veil was now transparent, I was left vulnerable to the myriad of human emotions that were stored within me –once protected from my delicate conscious psyche. The emotions, attached to memories, startled and shook me, and stole my peaceful sleep and happy awake. The memories began somewhat benign, but eventually everything I knew about myself began to evaporate, change, crack. The ground I walked on my whole life suddenly became a minefield of sinkholes into an abyss I didn’t understand. Like a flood sometimes, I was trapped beneath the surface, only to look up to see my rock bottom. When I managed to come up for air, I was blasted with a meteor shower of emotion that left me blindly running for shelter, my hands bloodied in protecting my head and my heart.  I was terrified.  I was alone.  I was self-defined insane.  I was in my personal living hell.

As I sank and surrendered deeper and deeper into darkness, in the clear distance, I saw and felt a light - a beacon. A beacon I forgot about for a long while, because its intensity was too bright to see through the veil of protection. In feeling its warmth, I looked to it for hope, and with great daily effort, I treaded slowly towards this lifeboat, this gift. Through my pain and slow healing, my lifeboat anchored me, grounded me, gave me air to breath. Without its buoyancy, I would have certainly drowned. The lifeboat not only saved me, it awakened me.

As I write this and look towards the distant sunset, I am reminded of the distance I have travelled, the pain I have felt, the boundless love I have known. Through it all, I know I am lucky.  Feeling is infinitely better than numbness; longing and grieving are far better than never truly feeling the miracle and purity of love. We can’t authentically feel the beauty in our lives if we have not yet felt the other side. A good friend told me recently, “You can’t get through it until you go through it.” There is such truth to that. So, I continue to walk.  I continue to heal.  I continue to remember. But, I now know I am not alone. Love is holding my hand and wiping away my tears. Love is in me and all around me. Love truly does conquer all.

 

 

For D.

 

            A watercolor painting - "Love." Love is one of the miracles in Life.

Finally Feeling in Color

I remember the day well. I was driving to work on a regular morning. Stopped in rush hour traffic, I looked to the sky and noticed a treasure of sunlight, happily escaping the cloudy and gray layers swirling around it. I thought to myself, “good for you, ray of light, for fighting your way through!” Then, without warning, and for no reason I can understand, I remembered something funny my Mom once said. I smiled. My smile turned to laughter. You know the kind of laughter – the impromptu, authentic, soul-felt laughter. I realized it was just me and that ray of light, giggling together, holding hands in secret, wondering if the other drivers could ever understand. My heart danced lightly, as I caught a glimpse of emotion I didn’t remember existed.

The day unrolled in its normal way, but it revealed threads of more emotion in its tapestry that I hadn’t noticed for so long. Where had all the color been all these years? As I dedicated myself to the projects and responsibilities of my work day, I smiled to myself as I realized that my world was becoming bigger, more colorful. My heart’s lens was suddenly able to capture more of the world around me. I changed that day.

When I got home that evening, I longed for my ray of sunlight - my companion only hours earlier. I went outside to reminisce. My ray was long gone, but the oranges and pinks in the Colorado evening sky surrounded me in beauty I hadn’t really felt that deeply before. I realized in that moment that the light of my Mom’s life was breaking through the clouds of her suicide. With this light, I finally had access to the myriad of human emotions, the entire spectrum, buried so deep for so long. Although I was unaware that this tiny ray of light would lead to a meteor shower of emotion in the coming months and years, I was able to feel in color again. The fog of numbness had lifted; I was alive.

        A watercolor painting, "Tree of Life." Life is so beautiful if you are able to feel it in color.

Guilt is a Hole in my Pocket

“Either a Nun or a nurse.” That was my response to my first grade teacher’s casual inquiry as I daydreamed about my grown-up aspirations. Although her puzzled expression was undeniable, I knew my 6-year-old response required no validation; in either role, I knew I would be able to ‘cure’ my mother’s mental illness. I knew this because my wildest dreams told me I could.

My egocentric thinking as a little girl with an infinite imagination created a perfect breeding ground for Guilt’s sneaky presence. Even as a small child, Guilt flirted with my unrealistic expectations in my ability to ‘make things better.’ Guilt knew I would most certainly fail myself, and It couldn’t wait to show me just how much. As Guilt patiently lurked and waited in the shadows to swallow me unexpectedly and with force, at the same time, it seeped into my awareness, slowly and steadily, knowing it would eventually win the battle against my imagined ‘healing touch.’ Guilt’s pace and power is brilliant that way.

Time and time again I felt like a failure. It didn’t matter how good my grades were, how well I played basketball, or how well-liked I was. It didn’t matter how many times I played the perfect piano, or how many times I was ‘the good girl who never got in trouble.’ Nothing I did ‘cured’ my Mom. By the time I was a young adult, in my mind and heart, I felt like a complete disappointment. After my Mother’s tragic suicide, I found myself in the welcoming arms of Guilt, the sly byproduct of a lifetime of childhood ‘wants’ and ‘dreams’, paralyzed by Guilt’s entanglement with an incomprehensible and agonizing Grief.

As I walk along life’s journey, I’ve realized that with every step, with each movement, I have the opportunity to pick up a piece of my fragmented and tormented self. In the many years of trying to heal the pain of growing up in a home with a mentally ill parent, I look back to see that much of my efforts were derailed by Guilt’s cunning grasp. Guilt is a hole in my pocket that has allowed many of my carefully-found fragments to be redropped during my journey towards healing and wholeness. Guilt’s irrational power is like a persistent itch; it can’t be satisfied by a simple effort. You see, I understood logically that my Mother’s death was not my fault; however, the translation of this fact got lost somewhere between my head and my heart. Each time I looked in the mirror, I could see Guilt’s pointed finger, It’s constant reminder of my perceived weaknesses and blatant failures.

It has taken a long, long time, but I now know that the thread that can eventually mend Guilt’s irrational gaping hole is Forgiveness. And, the real awakening came the moment I ultimately understood that the person I truly needed to Forgive was myself.

A watercolor painting, "Walking." Sometimes the path is painful, but if we look up as we walk, we might catch something beautiful along the way.

Grief: The Profound Presence of an Absence

Grief is not simply missing someone. Grief is a profound and distinct presence, a flow of powerful energy, appearing out of nowhere sometimes, always ignoring its void invitation. Grief makes its presence known by surrounding our hearts, engaging our heads, and leaving our bodies no choice but to surrender. Grief is an excruciating and profound presence of an absence - an absence of someone we love.

My Mother’s death attracted Grief to my soul’s door. I was not ready for this presence, and I received no warning of its incredible abilities. Grief did not knock before it entered, proving it truly has no regard for manners or common courtesy. It barged in fiercely and swiftly, enveloped my soul, and left my heart vulnerable to its wrath. When Grief was around, I almost longed for the presence, instead, of its more benign cousins, Sadness or Helplessness. However, Grief likes to be the center of attention. It wants to be its own ‘life of the party.’ It demands complete focus on itself. Yes, if I were Grief’s therapist, I would diagnose it with a personality disorder. Absolute narcissism

I’ve realized, however, that Love and Time stand up to Grief. They intermingle with Grief, and together, reduce and limit its power. Grief considers itself a lifetime ‘associate’, however, and invites itself to visit at the most inconvenient times. For example, it stopped by recently when I wanted to model a new pair shoes for my Mom. It also showed up the day I found my wedding dress, and the day I walked down the aisle to join my husband at the altar. Of course, it had to bring attention to itself during those precious moments when I looked into each of my son’s eyes for the first time. And, whenever I make my Mom’s famous banana bread, Grief decides to join in, distracting me from the wonderful smells and fond memories I so enjoy.

Although I never intend to invite Grief to visit, I can appreciate its impact on those who have been submersed in it. I understand Grief, somewhat, and am aware of its power and its impact on our souls. I can also see the beauty in Grief’s interaction with Love and Time, and how the three, together, can create deep and intense meaning in our lives. Grief has helped bring me closer to my authentic self, and I know that. I will never share this with Grief, however, because it already has a high opinion of itself. I’ll simply give Love and Time credit for this. They deserve it more.

 

 

              A watercolor painting, "The Perfect Purple Flower."  As a little girl, I would walk with my Mom, always in search of purple flowers....