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my
Quick Revisit of the Stages of Recovery.
But only if you want to.)
But only if you want to.)
James
Taylor's melancholy Fire and Rain which laments the unexpected
loss of a friend, and I now think of the loss of integration of
trauma when I hear him sing “sweet dreams and
flying machines in pieces on the ground.”
In a
way, that is what trauma does to us. Our dreams break apart, perhaps
because they weren't very realistic but sometimes because we don't
have time to realize them because we're so busy trying to figure out
how to put ourselves back together. Sometimes, we just can't recover
all that we've lost. Sometimes, we lose our ability to fly because
the pieces lay on the ground, smashed and broken because of what
happened to us. We become no longer whole. We dis-integrate.
Trauma
taught me to aim for less lofty and attainable goals in real life,
all while my heart mored the loss of what I might have done if my
flying machine of dreams had not been such a dis-integrated pile of
rubble. Between that and the lies I believed because of trauma, I've
aspired to do wonderful things, but I decided that I'd be pretty
happy if the good I do just outweighs the stuff I screw up by just a
little bit by the time I exit this life of mine. When you don't aim
very high, you don't achieve very much, and I've made a career out of
running around doing very attainable things. I stare up at the moon,
but in sadness, I don't reach for it. I think about the people that
I always thought that I'd see again but know I likely wont. And I
wonder if I ever had a pure moment when I dared to reach high, just
because that's what my heart wanted.
What
is this thing called joy?
But this
time around was a bit different. I found other daffodils of hope,
and I think that I've healed enough and put to silence enough of the
lies that I used to believe because of my trauma to hear a different
song.
I won't
name them for you, but suffice it to say, I was greeted by many
bright flowers of hope which came as the blessings and kind words of
friends and respected associates who came from many places to remind
me of things that I did right. I didn't solicit them. I didn't look
for them, but they found me. I heard them. I embraced them and
said, “Thank you.” I wonder if those who shared these
encouraging words with me have any idea how timely they were or how
much they meant and still mean to me. I wonder if such
encouragements were there all along, but I just was not able to hear
them – deafened by my own pain and shame. I guess that it doesn't
matter much. It all may have just been the fruit of love's long
labors to do what is right and good, and they just all came at once.
And the most precious thing about them was that they came from the
people whose opinons matter and mean the most to me.
I've
made mistakes and hurt people – and they are usually the last
people that I would ever want to cause any pain. But I think that is
what being human is all about, and I have learned to be patient and
kind with myself and with others in my regret. And I'm still
learning. Sometimes, they are things that cannot be repaired or words
that I cannot take back.
New
Lessons Always
There
are also those situations that I have not yet figured out where
things like these new rumors seem to come at me with little
provocation, or at least, they seem pretty disproportionate to the
mistakes that I did make. Those who stir in what seems like malice
offer me no chance to repent or make amends. So I am also learning
new lessons about how to take responsibility for what is mine and to
seize the opportunities that I do have to make amends for my wrongs.
I must learn how to move forward without having resolution or any
opportunity to ask forgiveness or seek a pardon. Some of that
baggage is not mine anymore if others will not relinquish their
resentment. Figuring all of that out while remaining safe and still
vulnerable is much work sometimes. But it is getting easier, too.
And I've
learned to celebrate the good and those daffodils of Spring, despite
all of the crunchy brown leaves of days gone by at their feet. I can
look back over the past few weeks and see that I do trust this
process of healing – and if I can, it is possible for anyone.
Daffodils survive forest fires and rain and winter's snow. Those
flowers in the woods aren't hindered by the layers of leaves piled
over the ground where they hide below the surface. And when it is
time and it is safe for them, they raise their heads of joy to
brighten my world. And on a good day, I'm beginning to believe that
my own blossoms have not been for naught or unnoticed.
A SILLY VERSION OF JT for Zack Bonnie,
just to celebrate his new book in progress.
(They butcher the song miserably! It may help.
just to celebrate his new book in progress.
(They butcher the song miserably! It may help.
Buy and read the book to find out why it's significant.)
For
further reading until the next post:
- Judith Herman's Trauma and Recovery
- Peter Levine's Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma
- Bessel Van der Kolk's The
Body Keeps Score
