Healing from trauma is sooo not about positive thinking. . . .so I'm glad that this group isn't at all about changing negative thinking to positive.
I have wondered (over the years) why I tend to scoff at the "positive thinking" genre. I thought it was because I also tend to be sarcastic and jaded in nature. . . .lol. But that's not what it was about. . . .it's because these books on positive thinking actually minimize and invalidate the damage that trauma has created in my life. Positive affirmations have their place in personal growth and development, but all the positive affirmations in the world aren't going to make the panic go away or stop the sleepless nightmares. And it's downright offensive to imply that if I would just think more positively that everything would miraculously feel better.
Life isn't always about being "happy" and filled with love and sunshine all of the time.
I need a place where I can let the clouds form and the thunder roar. That is what I mean when I talk about looking for "Friends of Jesus," people who aren't afraid to walk through hell with me. I don't want my friendships or relationships to be the place where all of this darkness gets expressed and sorted through. I need a place where all of that intensity doesn't overwhelm the people I love....and who actually do love me. I can't completely separate that out, but I absolutely need to be able to roar and let the rain pour down and put out the fires burning out of control across my beautiful spirit, scorching and scarring as it burns on. And I also don't want to be alone when I return from this land of perpetual pain.
The hardest words for me right now are "I need. . . . "
One of the things I love about living in Northern Arizona is the summer monsoon season. I relate to that kind of intensity. It feels good to have that kind of raw power wrap itself around me, then pass on as if nothing had really happened, because that's how my own process feels. There are these moments of process that expand quickly, like dough rising with fast acting yeast. . . .lol.. . . but then the moment passes, and I'm back to being me. I can't stop it. . . .and there's nothing that anyone else can do to help me through it. It just is what it is, and then it ceases to be a part of me any more.
The hardest thing about being a human being has to be watching someone we care about and love going through pain or suffering of any kind. I can't imagine having a child with a seizure disorder, and the powerlessness that comes with not being able to do anything but ride it out, praying that your child will come through unscathed. So I'm sure that's how my friends and the people who care about me feel as they watch me go through this unwrapping process of a history that still binds and oppresses my spirit.
I really miss the canyon right now. The grand canyon is the only place where my spirit has felt "contained." It's as if that huge giant chasm mirrors my spirit and embraces me in a way that I don't have language for. I understand that it's just a place, but the spirit there. . . .I just can't explain how it heals and invites me to go deeper into my self. And in this moment my spirit aches to be walking through the canyon I have come to love and call my home.
But for now, I am here. . . .until I am no longer here, but there. . . . wherever there is :)