The Other Side of Healing

What no one tells you is that when you are healing from past traumas and experiences is both the fear and the freedom that you experience. Fear and discomfort at the unfamiliarity of the situation, fear that somehow this will change or be taken away, discomfort at breaking new patterns and experiencing new ones. Every step forward away from those traumas and negative experiences breaks the pattern and helps to create new ones, or at least space for new ones. This past year has had a multitude of them for me and I find myself frequently in a space of not knowing what to do. I know ultimately what I want, but the path to achieving what I want, believing that what I want will occur, and making those steps often has me stumped. How do I accept this new place when everything to this point has told me otherwise that it simply is a pipe dream? What do I need to do here to believe otherwise enough to make a change in my own self?

These moments are taxing, they are breaking, but they have been worth it. The moments of "I don't know what to do with this" are usually my first indicator that I'm standing at a precipice with a choice to trudge back down the familiar path or jump forward into this new space and existence. I wish that I could say I have jumped with each of these opportunities but I have not; fear, anxiety, habit, and the safety/comfort of the familiarity of retreat have overtaken some of these. For the times that I do leap I am filled with a nervous energy and excitement, overwhelmed in the moment and sometimes startled to find myself in this new space. Sometimes these are important transitions, and others are simply small ones, but each new one still unknown. What they don't tell you is that these are often scary, they present their own fear. In breaking my patterns, leaving the comfort of the unhealthy I have to face myself, my history, my previous choices and give grace to that woman so that the one in this moment is free.

What no one tells you about healthy and healing is that the path is not linear, nor is it a staircase; it is a trail through the woods and mountains, winding about, often times reversing back on itself. Finding myself continually challenged with ideas, experiences, choices that I think I have changed and accepted, yet they reappear as the trail winds. Making the changes internally is a process, one that is nearly as intense as experiencing the initial traumas. It has a depth and complexity to it that is difficult to explain. In learning to be vulnerable and trust I have to acknowledge the previous moments where I was vulnerable and was left stranded on the path. I have to find the courage to believe and accept that this moment is different, or I find myself retracing steps, repeating, and allowing the fear of healthy overtake the security of unhealthy.

When you have experienced such intense time periods in your life moving into something that is stable and healthy feels unstable, feels unsafe. While it is the thing you crave, the thing you desire, and the thing that society thinks should be an easy acceptance, "simply choose it and it will be so;" those of us who have walked this can speak to the challenge. Moving from a pipe dream to facing the reality that it is no longer a pipe dream is it's own challenge. Grappling with your own sense of worthiness, ability to be loved, and to be seen and accepted for who you are- not what you can provide is difficult. That movement into accepting each of these components it's own journey, it's own path in healing and growth that can be just as violent and life-altering as the times that took those away from you.

welcome to the other side of healing

A Unit Circle

Not that long ago it was told to me that my kids and I were a tight-knit crew, not closed off, just extremely close. I always considered the 5 of us to be close, just not in the manner with what was described. I have used that feedback to sit-back and reflect on who we are. We are close, we are a unit; one forged of love and trust and adventure. We are by no means all friends, my kids are certainly friends with each other, as well as siblings, but I am clearly the parent, at best the leader of the group, at worst the outsider. From this outside perspective I was told it can be intimidating to enter our circle, not because we're not welcoming, but because we are such a unit. Finding a place in the circle when we inherently know our strengths and weaknesses would be a challenge for someone, and I had never considered it; never considered how our unit might appear to others and how that has impacted our social life.

We are the family that hosts bonfires and everyone is welcome. Come over, bring a chair, enjoy the fire and s'mores and simply hang out. We enjoy hosting people, and prior to our crazy lives with 4 teenagers we used to have more frequent gatherings. From college parties with home-cooked food to young adult parties with an extensive menu, the majority of my life I have been a hostess. This all carried over into my adult life with parties and gatherings, simply bringing people together to share food and laughter and make memories.

I want my children to remember the gatherings, the fun, and think of these times when life seems simply too much. I want them to remember that sense of community, and yet as I reflect on the past decade I struggle to see that community. I see us hosting again and again, bringing over friends and neighbors, even complete strangers to enjoy time with us. They have been beautiful moments for us, but ones that are rarely, if ever, reciprocated. I have observed friends and neighbors hosting gatherings of their own, mixes of friends and family, and rarely has an invitation been extended. I wonder now if it's because of our unit. A few years ago I remember driving by a friend's home that was clearly having a party and my children commenting on the party and then asking why we weren't invited. I made some answer, but I remember feeling crushed that my children were starting to notice the differences. Now I look and wonder if it's because we are such a unit, that what I see as a happy, loving family, appears to the outside as closed off, unreachable. I can certainly hope not, but as we close out another holiday and I see the photos of the picnics and gatherings and parties, all I can see is that another has passed without an invitation.

Somewhere along this path when I truly began noticing that we were continuously on our own for holidays I began planning things for us to do together. We have a host of happy memories of camping, hiking, bonfires, all clearly feeding into our closeness. I have broached the subject of our apparent lack of micro-community tentatively with a few people and it often comes back to me as, "well you're usually busy" or "you're always welcome to join us". Busy I understand- we are a busy family, and yes I often plan things these weekends as I do not want to waste time waiting on an invitation that may never arrive. The phrase "you're always welcome to join us" is not an invitation, at least not for one with anxiety like mine, and one who has a history of being invited places, then treated like I was not welcome. I would prefer to avoid repeating those experiences, and would like to prevent my children from experiencing them. I never quite know what to say in response to these statements, so I opt for brief explanations about our schedule or my need for a clear invitation so as not to intrude. All which creates a cycle of us being busy and and bonding and separating ourselves from this community further.

As most parents and caregivers do, I try to do my best by my children, and yet in these moments when I see these micro-communities around us I feel like I have failed them. That in my desire to create memories with them and shield them I have separated them from these microcosms and more. Failed in that they do not have this surrounding community that so many others have. It is more challenging when you do not have local family, and yet having grown up without family nearby I know it can be done. I have fond memories of growing up with my parents and attending parties, arriving with a salad or cookies or something and being welcomed; I feel sad that my children have nearly none of these moments and memories. All I can do is hope that the memories they do have are enough.

 

Lattes, Laughter, & Love

It started with lattes, finished with laughter and a year later I find myself in love with the most incredible man. I have laughed more this past year, smiled until my cheeks hurt, and experienced things that were on lists that I had only hoped to experience. Pipe dreams and beyond. Not every moment has been easy. There have been tears, there has been fear, and I have had a number of traumas come to light. I have run away literally and figuratively. No fights, but heavy conversations with heavy topics- yet what do you expect when you have the ability to be truly open and honest with someone? 

A year of texts, calls, conversations, and did I mention the laughter? I have never met anyone that makes me laugh the way he does; there are times it is unintentional and then there are the moments that he sets about the make me smile and laugh. Even sitting here now reflecting on the past year it makes me smile. My kids like to ask what we talk about, and the answer is everything and anything. We discuss our day, my kids, an adventure we're planning, cars, books, the chaos of life, computers, technology, food, beer, and so many things I can't even begin to list them. We talk about us too. We talk about where we are in the moment, where we are looking, and dance around the topic of the future. It's there, we know it is, yet there is something about being present and accepting of where we are right in the moment that has it's own beauty. I have been in other relationships where I spent a lot of time in my head about the future and planning the future that I missed the simplicity and beauty of the moment. This incredible man of mine helps me stay in the here and now. While we're in the midst of making plans for this upcoming winter we have the ability to look at the now, for which I am thankful.

I have spent much of this year healing from intense past traumas, and he has been there every step of the way, even when I'm terrified. In the moments when I am overwhelmed and running he has met me with patience and honesty and understanding. In April I was triggered by a small series of little things, things so small I could not explain them, but I bolted, took off to the trail without a goodbye, without a note, nothing. I knew I was running, I knew I should turn around and yet I just kept driving and then hiking. A few hours and buckets of tears later I picked up the phone; standing in a small windbreak at the top of a ridge on the Appalachian Trail in New Jersey I called to apologize. I stood there fighting back tears and shared that I was not ok, but that it was not ok how I left, how I treated him. As we navigated that phone call my tears subsided and I was able to find a bit of peace in the remainder of the hike. Peace I needed so that I could identify what had happened and connect with him post-hike. Full of fear and trauma response I met him after that trip, unsure how I would be received. He had told me he had forgiven me, but I knew I had hurt him, and the trauma and fear had me walking into that restaurant shaking. Seeing him sitting there smiling with a beer on the table I was brought back to the matcha latte table, the two moments overlaid for just a moment, and with that I found the ounce of courage I needed to step forward, sit down and begin a difficult conversation. How do you explain the trauma, the hurt, the fear from something so small when the person sitting next to you wants nothing but the best for you?

There have been no straightforward paths over this past year, and it has been challenging navigating my own traumas, hurts and fears, while he deals with own. Finding the balance of asking for my needs and meeting his needs is something I work at daily, and while it is easier it still takes effort. Finding myself on the receiving end of beautiful caretaking is a first. "I don't know what to do with this" is a phrase I use often. I have cared for myself and my crew for so long that I do not know how to be the receiver of such caretaking gifts. It should be a simple thing to have someone make you a meal, show up when you're not well, celebrate your birthday, and gift you something because they thought of you; in fact it's what I do. Yet my history is not such that it is something I am accustomed too. In the end it is something that I do not want to become accustomed too, it is something that I never wish to take for granted. I want to cherish and honor the caretaking, the heart and thought that is poured into some of these things.

I sit here a year later sipping my wine, wishing it was a matcha latte with company, yet we have had a year of matcha lattes, and we have more coming. More snowboarding, more hikes, more meals, more laughter, and more of the little things that are part of this journey of ours. 

"Deep within us—no matter who we are—there lives a feeling of wanting to be lovable, of wanting to be the kind of person that others like to be with. And the greatest thing we can do is to let people know that they are loved and capable of loving." ~ Fred Rogers