healing – Page 13 – One Woman's Quest

Day 219 “Return to Emptiness”

“We’ll give him a few more minutes, shall we?” The kindly old man seated across from me, crossed one leg over the other and sat back as if he had all the time in the world to wait.

“The thing is…I mean…,” I hung my head in shame. “I don’t think he’s coming.”

“Ah, yes.” He picked up his note pad, uncrossed and leaned forward. “I suspected as much.”

“He went away for the weekend, you see, and he hasn’t returned yet.” How could I tell him that my husband left on Friday, and this was Monday, and I hadn’t heard a word from him? “He knew about the appointment,” I scrambled to make an excuse, “he just wasn’t sure if he’d make it back on time.”

“Do you think he wanted to be here?”

The question hit me hard. Tears caught in my throat and the best I could muster was a silent shake of the head.

“I’ve been doing this job for a long time, and I really don’t see any point of beating about the bush,” the psychiatrist said reaching for a tissue. “The fact is you and I both know he never had any intention of coming here today. He’s left it in my lap to tell you the marriage is over.”

It was the first of December, and when my partner of seventeen years did return home, he confirmed the doctor’s conclusion.

“We’ll wait till after Christmas,” he declared matter-of-factly. “That way we won’t ruin the children’s holiday.”

I hadn’t seen it coming. The shock was replaced with a overwhelming numbness that spurred me into robotic overdrive. Maintain a semblance of normalcy, I kept telling myself. No one must know! Secretly, I think I was hoping that if I acted like nothing was happening, then nothing would happen.

Inside, I was a mess. I had built all my hopes and dreams around this man. Seventeen years is a long time to commit your life to another, and frankly, I didn’t know what else to do.

The days passed, and in a fog, I trudged through, looking for meaning to the madness that surrounded me.

I just want some joy in my life, I prayed. How do I feel alive again?

The answer came during an ordinary outing with my children to the local library. I loved the library, because after I’d settled the kids in with some books of their own, I could search for myself. “Read; it will help keep you distracted,” my psychiatrist had advised. No arguments there.

Abandoned on a partially empty shelf, a little book caught my eye. “Everyday Sacred” was the title and the picture was of a large, red, earthenware bowl. I picked it up and flipped to the preface. It read:

I scooped the book up, then my children, and waited anxiously for the moment to explore Sue Bender’s words.

My soul resonated with the analogy of the bowl. My bowl had suddenly been emptied, and I would have to create a whole new beginning. Bender described the spiritual act associated with a begging bowl, in which the bearers would have to go into the streets and beg for their daily meals. The lesson: to learn to accept what we are given, each day, and to cherish all offerings. (My simplified version.)

Something inside me sang. I wanted to learn to live with gratitude and the joy of beholding the sacred in everyday.

Plans for the move started to take shape. As my husband worked from home, the children and I would move out. We found a townhouse not far from their school, and I ran into an old friend who was in the process of downsizing – she furnished the house for us. It was almost as if the Universe was stepping forward to buffer the blow. While my heart still ached, and I could barely manage to eat for the stress of it all, I also felt strangely comforted. My proverbial bowl continued to flow with abundance, and I just kept giving thanks.

Moving day was drawing near and the last thing I had to do was to arrange for a new home phone. Something in that act felt final, and as I hung up from the customer service rep, I put my head down on the table before me and felt the full weight of grief. There would be no going back. My life as I’d known it was over.

Look at what it spells. I swear a little voice whispered in my ear. “What what spells?” I spoke aloud, looking around for the source, but no answer came. Convinced I had really lost it, I turned my attention back to my new phone number. I would have to memorize it.

2 – 6 – 9 – 5 were the last four digits. 2, 6, 9, 5, I repeated in my head. 2695. Could this spell something?
I checked my keypad. And there it was:

b – o- w- l.

With no steady income and three mouths to feed, I had live with what each day brought, sometimes hardship, and sometimes blessings. It was a humbling, yet soul inspiring time of my life.

* * *

It’s been seventeen years since Susan Bender’s writings came into my life, but the concept still resides with me, bringing me comfort.

Now learning to live with chronic illness, my life has been once again emptied of the sense of purpose and routine that I had become so attached to.

I have returned to emptiness, and because of it, I now have a whole vessel waiting to be filled, and each day, I take what I’ve been given, and give thanks – for once again the simplest of things have become – every day – sacred.

(Sue Bender’s book is available on Amazon. Click here for a copy.)

Day 217 “Leadership”

My father died on December 23rd and. because of the holiday, we were only able to post an obituary for one day before the funeral proceedings. It was a blustery Christmas that year, with the weather fluctuating between freezing rain and snow squalls, making driving a hazard. We had little expectation that anyone would come out for the service.

Surprisingly, many came, and we stood in line for hours greeting people, and listening to tales of our father. Friends I remembered from my childhood days appeared and fussed over how grown we all are, but many of the faces were unfamiliar. Regardless of the connection, the stories all expressed a common thread.

“If it wasn’t for your father,” one man told me, “I don’t know where I’d be today. Your father took me in at time when even I didn’t believe in myself. Hired me when he could have had a hundred other, younger, more experienced men.” I listened politely, as the man still clung to my hand. “I even asked him why me? You know what he said?” No, I shook my head, trying to picture my father even having this conversation. “He said I was a regular guy, down-to-earth; that people would relate to me. He said he couldn’t train the young whipper-snappers (definitely my dad’s words) to have what I had. I’ve been quite successful too, thanks to your dad.”

“Your father found me sleeping on a bench in the train station.” Another man told me. “I had hit rock bottom, didn’t know where to go next or how to carry on. I had one suit draped over the bench behind me. In your father came, grabbed up the suit in one hand, and literally pulled me off the bench. ‘Come on, Man!’ he said. ‘You’re too good for this. I’m getting you a job.’ He was my angel.” I knew this man. He’d been far more successful than my father in his life. I never knew about the role my father played.

“Your father always had a way of motivating us,” one man told me. “We were his team, but we were more than that. He made us feel important, like family. And he never asked us to do anything that he wouldn’t do himself. We felt respected.”

“He fired me once,” another man chuckled. “But you know, I deserved it. Told me to come back when I grew up and got my priorities right. I did, and we worked together again. I credit him with giving me the kick I needed. He never held a grudge, and neither did I.”

It was difficult through it all not to picture the tyrant that had ruled our household with terror for so many years, and yet, somewhere in the back of my mind, I had always seen this potential in my father.

He had been a great leader in his field, as witnessed on this stormy December day. The many who dared to come despite the weather gave us a wonderful gift that day – a new understanding of the man we called ‘father’, and a new purpose to our grieving.

I, personally, grieve that the type of leadership my father practiced in his working life seldom made it home where it was sorely needed.

Day 216 “Living with the Unknown”

“We don’t know what causes this illness, and there is no cure or course of treatment other than management, and that is mostly trial and error.” It is the standard answer from all healthcare providers when it comes to ME/CFS.

“I am flat out frustrated,” I tell my therapist. “I can’t seem to find a regime that works. I can have one or two good days and then, wham, I am knocked down for no apparent reason.”

“That seems to be the way with this disease. How are you managing emotionally?”

“Okay, mostly, but on the worst days I find myself always on the edge of tears.”

“There is a grieving process that accompanies a diagnosis of chronic illness, you know. It has to do with the loss of your normal life, and all the things that go with being healthy.”

“This feels more like fear. I know it’s irrational, but this feels very much like fear.”

“Are you afraid you’ll never get well again.”

“Nnnoo…….I know I can do that – I’ve gotten through worse before. It’s just….it feels almost as if it’s coming from an old place – a younger me, if that makes sense.”

“It does actually. Whenever we are hurt or vulnerable, we often respond from a wounded part of ourselves, and that usually relates back to childhood. How old does this make you feel?”

“Nine!” I respond immediately. “I can see me, sitting in the corner of my childhood bedroom. It was my favourite hiding place. I spent hours and hours there as a kid.” Wishing someone would come find, but they never did, I remember to myself.

“Can you talk to her?”

Little Me sits with her knees drawn up tight, arms hugging them to her, eyes wide open and hyper-alert.

“What is it?” I ask.

No one will want us, her fear says.

The emotion hits me violently. She was told over and over again that she was an unwanted burden. “Unwanted” is the key word. We can handle any other pain than that.

“We have a burden complex,” I tell both her and my therapist.

Both nod, but Little Me’s terror and tension doesn’t ease.

“Go on,” urges my therapist.

“A burden is something, not someone,” I explain. “You are not a burden. You are a child, and by that fact alone, you have certain rights – birthrights – among them the right to have your needs met, the right to be looked after and cared for, and the right to be loved. NOT: You have to earn these rights! NOT: You are unworthy and therefore undeserving! You exist, you are born, those are your rights!”

My therapist nods throughout, and more importantly, I see Little Me is listening, and her shoulders have dropped a bit.

But Mom says…., she begins.

“I know what your Mother tells you: Don’t wear out your welcome. All she means is be polite and stay a reasonable amount of time when visiting your friends. She is not commenting on your likeability.”

Really? What is a reasonable amount of time?

“Discreetly leave before supper is ready unless you are invited.”

“Yes, yes,” the therapist nods.

Little Me considers this. Then why does she rush us off to bed at night as soon as Dad gets home? Isn’t it because we’re a burden and she doesn’t want to remind him?

“NO! It has nothing to do with that! I cannot emphasize this enough! It is something you will understand as an adult, but for now, know that you being sent to bed is your parents’ issue, not yours!”

What about Thor? Won’t he find us a burden and leave us?

“Ahh!” says my therapist warmly.

I feel my throat catch and sigh. “Some things in life are uncertain.” It’s not like I haven’t thought about it. How do I begin to address this? “We have many things that Thor is looking for,” I offer. “Last year, we looked after him. We are patient, loving, and good listeners. These are important to him. He is wounded too, you know. He needs reassurances. Our insecurities will push him away more than anything, especially if we pretend not to have any.”

The truth of this last statement hits me. Little Me loosens her posture and now looks at me quizzically. Confession time.

“One of the things I have done in my life – right or wrong- is to develop a tough exterior. It hasn’t always served us well. Much like our Mother sending us off to bed early, I did it as a form of protection.” I pause to feel the weight of the revelation. “It doesn’t work anymore.”

The silence from within and without encourages me to go on. “Part of my healing process – our healing process (I add for Little’s sake)- is to replace that characteristic with a healthier one.”

What will that look like? Little Me echoes my therapists thoughts.

“Not entirely sure, but I know how it will feel: safe enough for you to come out of the corner and engage with life. You, we, have a lot to share, and we can’t do it when we hide ourselves away.”

I am strangely comforted by this conversation: lighter. “I have my homework cut out for me,” I tell my therapist.

“You do! But this is a good start.”

“Life is full of uncertainties,” I tell Little Me, on our way home. “Some good, some bad; it’s just the way it is.”

Kinda like an adventure?

“Yeah, it kinda is!”

Day 214 “Divine Spark”

The emerald waters
of my crystalline personality
are only a reflection
of an external light.

Lurking below the surface
the murky waters
of self-deprecation
create further illusion.

Dive deeper,
beyond the cold chill
of darkening thoughts
and threatening despair

Weed through the silt
of bottomed out desires
and find an opening –
black and foreboding.

Enter with an open heart
and find the chest within
rusted from neglect,
unguarded, with open latch.

Brush away the cobwebs
and with respectful caution
lift the dusty lid
and behold the divine spark

My true essence,
Tucked there in the darkness
an eternal flame
vibrant and vital.

Release it for me,
be so kind,
to light this dismal patch
and set my waters aglow again.

So that the emerald waters
of my crystalline personality
would reflect my inner
divine light.

What I’ve Learned From Trees

Meditating on the majestic beauty of the trees outside my window, I come to recognize something about myself. I cannot help but think that even though they are symbols of quiet strength, trees are not without their own vulnerabilities. Acts of Nature, or even human folly can bring them down, and so they, like me, are not immortal.

th-3 Perhaps none of us is meant to be an impenetrable force: the kind of force I aspired to in my youth.

You see, I always thought of myself as a strong woman, however; unlike the trees I contemplated in my last post, I was not flexible – bending graciously to the winds of change – but belligerent, resistant, and arrogant. I was a right fighter. Having grown up in an atmosphere of relentless uncertainty, I commanded myself to be strong, believing that with an iron will, I could gain control of life – not just my own, but the lives of those around me. I adopted an air of superiority – pretending to know better than anyone else – even though on the inside, I never measured up. Showing vulnerability was never an option. Instead, I must have appeared the fool, and undoubtedly hurt many others.

True strength, I realize now, comes in retreating in the face of adversity, and the willingness to see beyond personal righteousness. It involves an openness to understanding alternative perspectives, and the wisdom to perceive the truth underlying the turmoil.

th-4 My current life circumstances have brought me limitations: physically and mentally. My awake and energetic times are severely restricted. I am challenged to create a new definition of self, and what it is to be strong.

I dreamt of my dear cousin Bev last night. Bev passed away recently after battling cancer for ten years. In all those years she faced her struggle with a quiet strength: maintaining her outer poise, surrendering to the times of severe illness, and establishing healthy boundaries. She was a model for gracious living. Truly a strong woman.

Illness has brought me an opportunity to retreat for a while. It is allowing me the possibility of real change: measurable change. In surrendering my old sense of self, I will surely emerge new.

In the meantime, I remain open and vulnerable – not comfortable – but then at fifty-six years of age, I am well rooted. Like the trees.

As a Tree

Confined for hours at a time to my bed, I cheer myself by contemplating the trees outside my windows. There is something in their stoic beauty that both calms and inspires me.

Be as the tree a former meditation instructor taught me.

If I were a tree
my roots would run deep into the earth
and spread in all directions
grounding me.

Present.

My trunk would be wide and solid
weathering all storms
supporting other life
a tower.

Strong.

My branches would reach up to the sky
and dance with the breezes
and bend with the changing seasons
and bow to Nature.

Flexible.

If I were a tree
I would be calm, yet strong;
have heightened awareness, yet be rooted in reality.

I would yield to change,
yet stand proud in my own existence,
growing with grace.

If I were a tree
I would live in harmony
with Nature.

Present, Strong. Flexible.

Fully alive.

(Image from: www.nbcdfw.com)

Day 209 “The Multiverse”

In innocence, I first encountered her;
I, a mere child of five:
wide-eyed, curious, and unafraid;
she a creature of Nature.

The woods where I wandered were hers,
densely populated, untamed.
She eyed me with bewilderment,
this unattended sapling in her path.

With feline instincts she stalked me,
considering her moves
I was hers, undefended –
and so she took her time,
waiting for me to ripen for the attack.

She followed me through the fields
of adolescence,
pacing the perimeters
patiently biding her time.
And I, with growing awareness
came to understand her threat.
And I picked up the pace.

Into adulthood I ran,
seeking safety in the concrete walls
of business life, and fast-paced living
and like a cat with a mouse
she toyed with me,
knowing I’d be hers in the end.

She shrank back into the shadows
when motherhood became my calling
no doubt a Mother herself,
and therefore compassionately courteous.
But she never gave up.

Into old age I run, but –
the cougar grows closer,
her senses fully alert;
she smells my fear, and
fully powered she leaps
towards me,
and even
though
I seek
the safety
of my home
she easily
penetrates
the ineffective
doorways
of my
mind
and
pounces…

The Tao says that we live in a universe
of multiple possibilities –
a multiverse –
but when your life is spent
in survival mode,
in constant flight,
always looking behind
It is difficult to see the vast horizon
that lies ahead,
or even dream of possibilities

Day 208 “Undivided Attention”

Undivided attention.

Two words that brought me hope as a parent and caused me a deep sense of guilt.

I just had to talk on the phone in the presence of my children to know that it was my attention they wanted, without any distractions, and I knew if I could deliver that, they would behave. It gave me hope.

In reality, I had three children, four and under, and a house to run, and a job on the side, and a husband that was never present, and a family who perpetuated drama – not to mention a desire for a life of my own- so giving the children my undivided attention seemed like an impossible task and caused me enormous guilt.

I was never good enough in those years. (Is this every mother’s lot?)

Then, as a teacher, I realized that my students, like my children, were starved to be seen and heard, and I strived to give each one my full attention, if only for moments at a time, but it was never enough and I felt inadequate.

Now, challenged with this illness and unable to give much of anything to anybody, I realize that it is I – my body/mind/spirit – that needs me to be fully present and aware.

It is no longer okay to feel not good enough.

Guilt, you have no place here.

I am learning all over again about the benefits of undivided attention.

Self-Delusion

I am driven,
a woman obsessed.
feet digging in,
body pressed forward,
the sweat on my brow
blackened by the relentless dust
whipping around me
in the prairie heat.
I drive on,
fatherless,
husbandless,
solely responsible
for my cargo
the horses heeding my commands,
everything, everyone
I treasure
on board.
I am a pioneer
delivering us
to the promised land.

I am wounded,
bleeding,
my prone body
curled on a mat of straw
back towards the others
teeth clenched
in silent pain
determined
not to show my need.
I will not be a burden.
so I feign sleep
and brace myself
against the jolts
and try not to gasp.
Lie still,
Be brave,
the journey is necessary
and soon we will arrive
and all will be well
and I will stop,
bleeding.

We children
are both afraid and
joyous
The ride is bumpy
and never-ending
and we try to be good
and not complain
but our spirits long
to play
to get out of this wagon
and find cool water to
splash in
or play hopscotch
in the sand.
But we are obedient
and so instead
find laughter
in the moments
in our own company.
Believing,
trusting,
that all is for a reason,
and the end is near.

I am a young man,
and I have goals,
and dreams
beyond the confines of these wagon walls.
I have a vision
of a life fulfilling,
of purpose,
and gold,
and I am ready
and able
to fight
I am willing
to strive,
fearless
into the unknown
yet I am trapped
held captive
by my elders.
overlooked.

I am the faithful,
God-inspired
all-believing,
hopeful,
prayerful,
trusting in higher power
caught in a web
of pleading, asking, forgiving,
accepting, and wondering.
What can I give of myself?
What does God need?
Am I not good enough?
Have we sinned?
Are we being punished?
Are our needs only trite,
and we selfish?
Must we bear this cross
to be received
in Heaven?
Is there a reason
I pray for strength
so that I may be more worthy,
more deserving,
when the judgment day comes.

I am a mother,
worried,
caring,
hoping for the best
catering to all,
barely a child myself,
bearing each experience
with borrowed strength,
selflessly focused
outward
drawing, drawing,
from a well
seldom replenished.
Tired,
oh so, tired.

I am an old woman,
frail yet wise,
enduring the rough ride,
surrendering to the knocks
knowing that as in all things
this too shall pass.
I am silent,
guarding my wisdom
for the imploring only,
acknowledging the value
in each journey
in each interpretation,
knowing that in the end
we are all deluded
and that the destination
is in the here and now
not tomorrow
not at the end of some dusty trail.
In each moment we have arrived
and so have I.
Patient and accepting.
Life is as it is.
Amen.

Day 202 “Must-Have”

Rain pelts against my window
cheered on by the relentless wind
inside I lie motionless
on my once-yearned-for
now resigned-to
bed.

Target has those things you’re looking for
texts my daughter
pic attached.
Exactly what I’m looking for
but millions of miles away
when energy fails me

Instead I give in to the fingers
of sleep
that pull me in;
blessed unconsciousness
oblivion.

Ping! another message
Starbucks has Oprah’s chai tea!
I can taste the sweet cinnamony warmth
and dream of the day
when I get out of this bed
and go for tea

the rain outside persists
the light fading
another day of suspended animation
in this gloom of isolated
silence

A door opens below me
footsteps, a voice
Do you need anything?
I don’t respond,
too weak for words.
Do I need anything?

The question reverberates
through mind
emotion
body
and comes up empty
what could I need?
too much
nothing

Rain abates, wind subsides
and a brief ray of sun
brightens the room
a promise
of spring
new beginnings
and I think
I need clothes

but clothes means shopping
and shopping means energy
and the cycle continues
and still I lay
unmoved

Then you enter
an offering of tea
and a gentle word
and with renewed momentum
I shift to make room for you.
and it all comes clear
You are what I need.

You are my must-have.