How do I heal?
Will I ever fully heal?
As I contemplate or attempt to answer these questions, the one thing I know for sure is that true, deep, pain always requires dedication. To rid - or even diminish the hurt to a dull ache - means a commitment to bettering and strengthening the weakest parts of myself.
Is it physical pain? Is it emotional? Or, is it the pain that moves from mind to body and back to mind all over again - pushing and pulling from the mental and physical anguish that becomes difficult to decipher? I've had it all. I've fought it all. Now, I am learning that fighting the pain isn't the answer. Fighting through a challenge - sure. But the pain itself cannot be defeated by being pushed around.
For me, accepting hurt as a real and present "thing" is the start. Like a Rubiks Cube needing to be solved - all the colors mixed up and twisted - I hold my struggle, acknowledging its brightly colored squares and its jumbled pieces each one representing the parts of myself not in the right place. I see its causes and search for order. I feel the pricks of its reality and the frustration of not being able to flip the pieces around easily.
Hurt is something I can't just solve, though. In the moments of holding my struggle in my heart, mind, and soul I am allowing myself to be vulnerable and strong all at once. Because looking a monster in the eye is a scary premise, but in staring him down, I can start to see him for who he is, peeling away his armor and weakening his venom. I tell myself it is okay to cry or scream - letting the fear release from my physical body. It is around me and in me, but in seeing and holding the pain, I can now find a way to walk through the darkness and disarm the monster.
I find space to acknowledge my grief and struggle - where I can live with the hurt for a minute. Mine is best found by the waves of water lapping on the shore. The vastness of the sea and its appearance of never-ending depth and distance brings me back to earth and somehow connects me with God. My purpose in life is big, but my problems are but a single grain of sand in this world.
I breathe in the salty air.
I exhale the struggle.
God did not give me life to center on the pain I am feeling. I am experiencing this tough time, because I am human. In this moment I actively call to mind times where I overcame, where I felt the joy of success, what it feels like to be loved. I conjure the good and breathe in and out, in and out. I practice the feeling of knowing I will prevail. The work is never done, so I breathe in and out again and again. I allow myself to listen and feel.
I turn the struggle over to God. I set it out for the world. I know in my soul what I cannot control. And what I can, I take ownership of. I am accountable to myself and admit the role I play in causing myself this pain. I take the hurt apart and look at each piece. I move forward with the plan and purpose of correcting my wrongdoing and my course. I forgive those who have brought me to this place. They will need to answer for their own pain. I don't need to own that, too. I let go. I have faith that between God's grace and favor, and my own dedication, accountability, and hard work, I will heal from this hurt.
Traumas and disappointments don't just vanish upon first defeat. They come back at inopportune times and are often triggered by memories or images we aren't expecting to confront. But having the strength and understanding that I looked down the barrel and lived once will help me do so again and again. I slayed that monster, remember?
So yes, I will struggle again. That is the way of life. Yet, I will have a place - even if it is an escape through the memories tucked in the corner of my mind - where the sounds and feelings of the sea and sand settle my soul and center my heart. I will know what healing feels like. It is peace.
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