It was an interesting experience, to say the least. There I sat, on my couch, gripped by despair as tears fell and I gasped for air. I could not believe what was happening, that I was having this same experience. I was desperate and willing to learn this lesson once and for all, but felt paralyzed by insurmountable shame. It was in that moment of bewilderment that something shifted. I leaned into my despair, now curled in a ball on the floor clenching my fists. I took a deep surrendering breath, and was immediately transported directly to the source of my pain.
Originally published on Rebelle Society
Originally published on Rebelle Society
With a rush of adrenaline, I feverishly recalled all of the repetitive patterns that kept me stuck in this karmic loop. I rumbled with fear that led to fight or flight reactions. I admitted to behavior that was no different from his. I wrestled with doubts and misgivings in an attempt to ensure my salvation. That was when sharp pangs of disappointment began to pinch my nerves; I realized that I had been self-sabotaging throughout most of my adult life. I went deeper, noting insecurities that left me stumped, praying for divine intervention to tell me what to do – to show me the way out of my own way. You could imagine my surprise in between suspenseful breaths, when my heart suddenly said without skipping a beat: “Only you can heal yourself.”
These words made me tremble as I sat up at attention. I quickly began to see how I relied on others to save me from the things that scared me. If I could heal you, help you, or love you in any way, then I myself would be healed, helped, and loved. This was the pattern that played out time and time again until I finally got the message that it simply did not work this way. I had it backwards. I needed to heal myself, first. Only I could apply a soothing balm to my wounds. Only I could console and nurture me. The gentleness required was comforting. My pain was delicate. Only delicate care would do.
I became engrossed in this unfolding that soon took my breath away. I likened myself to a little girl, forever in need of safety and protection. Like most fears, hers stemmed from childhood. As she grew older, she was often reminded of past hurts that crippled her ability to live in the present. But her desire to live and to love persisted, even as she grappled with life’s twists and turns. She was as terrified as she was courageous. I knew her well because we were the same. As I looked more curiously at her complexity, I caught a glimpse of the rare gem that was my Soul.
I began to feel composed enough to gather the wounded parts of me scattered on the floor. I collected each piece with a tender touch, like a precious stone. Some remnants stained the ground beneath me however, as some wounds never fully heal. But that did not matter; I could see clearly now, all of my perfect imperfections. I felt liberated as I wept tears of acceptance. In that moment, I marveled at the most beautiful thing I had ever seen – the beauty of my pain, and me.
These words made me tremble as I sat up at attention. I quickly began to see how I relied on others to save me from the things that scared me. If I could heal you, help you, or love you in any way, then I myself would be healed, helped, and loved. This was the pattern that played out time and time again until I finally got the message that it simply did not work this way. I had it backwards. I needed to heal myself, first. Only I could apply a soothing balm to my wounds. Only I could console and nurture me. The gentleness required was comforting. My pain was delicate. Only delicate care would do.
I became engrossed in this unfolding that soon took my breath away. I likened myself to a little girl, forever in need of safety and protection. Like most fears, hers stemmed from childhood. As she grew older, she was often reminded of past hurts that crippled her ability to live in the present. But her desire to live and to love persisted, even as she grappled with life’s twists and turns. She was as terrified as she was courageous. I knew her well because we were the same. As I looked more curiously at her complexity, I caught a glimpse of the rare gem that was my Soul.
I began to feel composed enough to gather the wounded parts of me scattered on the floor. I collected each piece with a tender touch, like a precious stone. Some remnants stained the ground beneath me however, as some wounds never fully heal. But that did not matter; I could see clearly now, all of my perfect imperfections. I felt liberated as I wept tears of acceptance. In that moment, I marveled at the most beautiful thing I had ever seen – the beauty of my pain, and me.
