Archives for Pain
I took this photo in my local cemetery last week – a poignant spot in this beautiful little town with a big and broken heart… For we’ve had five suicides here in our Valley over the last couple of weeks, alone. Two of those were our young people. And several more of our community died by suicide this last year. It’s a lot for a small community to carry… Life is fairly quiet, here. Slower than in cities. And so many people are woven tightly into the community’s cloth. So when someone dies, especially by suicide, you can really feel the fray. There’s nowhere for it to hide. And when it keeps happening, and the sorrow keeps spreading, and the list of loved ones keeps growing, it can start to sound like a bell tolling out the question on everyone’s minds: “Why?” “Why?” “Why?”
My little boy is two-and-a-half. Just old enough to start wrestling with the big stuff. And I’m not talking about tantrums, here. But the stuff that many of us will grapple with all the days of our lives. Like brokenness… He brings a toy or a flower to me in too many pieces. “Fix it?” His eyes are bright and wide, face beaming, awaiting the alchemy of togetherness and glue. He’s seen this magic many times. He likes it. But it won’t work this time. “Sticky tape?” he suggests. I shake my head. “A band-aid?” I try to explain. How some things can be mended. And some things just can’t.
My grandmother is a sly sage (as so many of our grandmothers seem to be). On our most recent wander through her backyard, when I casually commented on her magnolia tree, she paused and replied, “Yes, we have a lot to learn from the garden…” And so we do. It’s been a pretty bleak time for me over the last couple of years. (Which is why I took a break from blogging). Lots of changes driven by heartache and pain. As sometimes seems to happen in life… The walls of my internal garden during that time have housed next to nought, as necessity overshadowed nourishment, and everything ended up neglected and parched. And though I kept ‘ploughing-on’ through the days, somehow I forgot to plant new seeds… So the field’s been kind of empty for a while. Do you know that feeling? Perhaps only too well. So many of us do, at some time or other. And as Valentine’s Day approaches, this kind of stuff just seems to get harder, harsher, the contrast highlighted by all the ‘lurve’ and flowers in the air. It seems easier just not to look; at the hype; at the self. And then, walking up my back steps the other day, I saw it anyway. A vine untangling and growing beneath my very house. Right there, in the dark and the dust. Neglected, not watered, but flourishing anyway. A vine of verdant hearts. (That’s it in the photo above). Yes, we have a lot to learn from the garden…
It's an old story. Old as the hills. And yet new every time it tells itself again. Have you heard it told to you lately? The clouds have gathered, thick and dark, on your skies. They're banked up and rolling heavy to your horizon. Maybe the rains have already started, pouring their grief over everything you know and soaking it all through with shadows. And then maybe the wind starts up. The lightning. It seems everything is going wrong at once. It's hard to imagine ever riding out this storm. And yet, if the story has its way, there will come a moment. A moment you might not notice at first. A moment that can start out smaller than small. But it's enough. Enough to invite a shift - an infinitessimal shift - that's almost no shift at all. Except that it is. So something tiny changes. And somehow that awakens the next little change. Until, gradually, all these fragile moments come together - like countless particles of light converging - almost invisible on their own. But together, slowly, they can start to pull the temperature of your day in a warmer direction. Together, they start to matter.
Trust is such an important part of therapy. And, of course, of life… So do you trust yourself? To know yourself. To grow yourself. To heal. A gentleman born in the early 1900’s trusted you, even though you’ve never met. His name was Carl Rogers, and he was a psychologist. And he believed that you – that all of us – have the innate power to understand and heal ourselves. He believed that somewhere inside, you have the solution, the answer, the salve for your life’s struggles. And that trust will help unlock them. So how do you do that?
On a day that started with torrential rain and umbrella wrestling (and weather forecasts of doom), it seemed almost miraculous to be able to stroll the street in a dry golden-blue-sky evening. But that’s what happened. Unexpectedly. And it was exactly then that this notice on a shopfront window caught my eye (you can see it in the photo, above): “All things must pass.” (And they certainly seem to). Sometimes this apparent truth about the world feels confronting. Unfair, even. Because these “things which must pass” inevitably include the things we love, and the things we celebrate. The things we might want to hold on to and never let go. But they're not the only things that this saying is on about...
I was winding my way through the early morning rush hour at the station, past crowds of people blurring by, when this strange little moment of stillness opened up. And then I saw it: a lost sole. (In the picture, above). A visual metaphor, reminding me of the times I’ve felt a bit like a lost soul myself. Or the times I’ve spoken with clients in counselling who felt they’d lost touch with their sense of soul and the things that really mattered to them. Have you ever felt that way? Where maybe some part of you was lost? Disconnected? Maybe covered over by sadness or grief? Or buried alive under a pile of convention or expectation that you felt you “should” live up to? Or maybe you just became so busy you gradually lost sight of it? There are so many ways to lose touch with what really matters in your life – to let the everyday grind take over instead. Or to let habits or old thought patterns get in the way. Sometimes it’s important to take a step back and reconnect with yourself. To remind yourself of what you want this life of yours to be all about. To find yourself again. But how might you do that?
It was on this same trip to work the other day, walking a different way, seeing different things, that I spotted this sign: "FEED YOUR MIND." And it led me to wondering... What are you feeding your mind? Are you nourishing it? Or mindlessly stuffing some junk in for a quick bit of rush? What are you putting in there? (And what are you hoping to get back out of it?) In his book, "Savor: Mindful Eating, Mindful Life," world renown Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh writes about mindful consumption. Not just of food. But of everything you ingest: television, conversations, images, thoughts. So, if you were to look at the typical "diet" you feed your mind, what might you find?
Grief. It comes to fill our hollows of loss. To accompany our loneliness. To be with our pain. So when you've lost someone important in your life, by death or distance; or if you've lost a certain hope for the future; you may find a sense of grief. Or maybe it finds you... It's all a bit of an enigma sometimes. For grief is a something in the middle of a new nothing. A heaviness in the emptiness. And, often, with grief can come tears. Even if you don't always let yourself cry them... At this time of year, with all the special occasions and anniversaries and expectations, all those un-cried tears - both old and new - can make themselves felt all the more. So where do you keep yours? Where do you actually carry them, your un-cried tears*?
You know the story, an apple a day's supposed to keep the doctor away. But can a healthy diet also help keep depression at bay, too? Some researchers see a connection. And that's important, because sometimes depression's treated as though it's "all in your head." As it turns out, it may well be in your body, too. And, if that's the case for you, then it's worth investigating. So let's take a quick look…