Emotional and Spiritual Healing Happens When We are Open

Emotional and Spiritual Healing Happens When We are Open

There is the belief that wisdom and understanding comes to us when we are ready to accept it. Even though it may have been presented many times before, we are blinded to it by our own issues and challenges. However, when we have reached the point of personal growth or have hit bottom, we are open to change, then we will receive the messages we need to heal old wounds or achieve a new understanding.

My last epiphany came while watching Days of Our Lives. It was after the death of one of the characters that I saw one of my stumbling blocks through out life. On the show, the family came together in mutual support and comfort. No one person was singled out to receive all the attention nor was one person the caretaker for the rest of the family. They reached out to each other with unconditional love and support. Their grief pulled them together making each member stronger and helping each of them heal.

While I watched the characters on the screen, I flashed back to when my mother died. Her death was sudden and unexpected. Although we hadn’t been close in a long time, we had just started to rebuild a relationship. The car accident ended that healing process. Driving back to my hometown, I tried to sort out what I felt. In fact, there was so much I felt nothing. The next three days were filled with questions, arrangements and confusion. My father’s reaction was typical of his past behavior. It was like he found a new sense of power. Growing up his alcoholic actions kept the household in chaos. My three brothers and myself never knew what or when, just that it was coming. The household had to be all about him. My mother’s death was no different. Not once did he attempt to comfort us. When we reached out of to each other, he again brought the attention back to himself. He needed to be the center of attention. It was his loss. He’s grief. She was his wife, but she was also our mother. It would have been different if their relationship had been based on love and respect. Instead, she was his caretaker, not a love mate. We were related by blood, but we had never created a family bond.

My mother’s sisters and their families were more concern about who was now going to take care of the ailing matriarch of the family. Even though Mom had two sisters, she was their mother’s sole caregiver. Her sisters always seemed to be too involved with their own lives to help very often. It was only when Mom insisted that they found the time. Now that she was dead, they were trying to decide who was going to be stuck with her. I watched them plan and cry, yet I wasn’t part of it. I was separate and alone. It’s hard to break down when everyone else is already in emotional pieces; someone has to hold it together long enough to find the glue. I cooked food, made coffee, comforted others--all the things I should do, yet I couldn’t feel my own grief. It was locked away behind the closet with all the other feelings that I couldn’t or wouldn’t acknowledge.

As I sat on my couch years later, those scenes in a soap opera gave me a point of clarity. Looking back, those four days were a microcosm of what my life had been. There were those who received support and those who gave it. Rarely were the roles ever exchanged. Two incidents came to mind. I was upset over something; my father mocked me for being a crybaby. Another time, I had headphones on and was enjoying music; he ridiculed me for smiling. In the big picture, neither were earth shattering or life threatening, but they were soul and behavior altering. I learned support came with a price if it came at all and that letting others see your soft under belly made you vulnerable. However, if you held back and became a support system, you would be needed therefore you would be safe. I became a cheerleader for others. Freely giving aid, yet afraid to complete the cycle and allow others to help me. I found it easy to share to share my blessing and the good things in my life, but when I was hurt or sad, I either put it away behind the locked door of the closet or hide away to comfort myself. To the outside world, I showed the positive, happy me, while the closet became fuller.

In looking back and then forward, I realized that as adult we give to others what we wanted as children and didn’t receive. Growing up support and encouragement didn’t exist for me. I never learned how to receive without feeling that it came with a price. Life is not a tit for tat. But a share experience that needs to be in balance for it to be healthy. All the times, I thought I was being generous, the reality was that I was being selfish. I shared my things, my resources and what I have learned, but never me. I didn’t have the courage let others know the whole of me--the good, bad and the ugly. There had been glimpses when I became so over whelmed I could no longer hide it. But I would have rather ate ground glass than to show others they had hurt my feelings. The simple fact was that I didn’t trust that I would be caught if I let myself fall; after all I was all I was always the one with the glue.

For me the change came after a sexual assault that filled the closet to over flowing. There was no longer any room left for me to hide away emotional stuff I didn’t want to deal with. I had an emotional break down that nearly lead to suicide. I had a choice to make--the razor blade or dealing with old shit. Once the door came off, there was no going back and I was finally ready to emotionally hear the message. There has been and will continue to be tears. There will be anger. There will be regret and all the other emotions I never allowed myself to feel. However, there will also be healing and a new beginning as I do my best to let others help me without feeling shame or fear.