Healing a Painful Memory
"Even within the seemingly most unacceptable and painful situation is concealed a deeper good, and within every disaster is contained the seed of grace...
acceptance of the unacceptable is the greatest source of grace in the world."
Stillness Speaks by Eckhart Tolle
The problems that I have had with digestion have hit an all time high. Lately, I have been truly miserable. I have thought about the metaphysical meaning behind the problem in an attempt to learn what my body is trying to say. Digestion is the process of assimilation. It is the process by which food is broken down and converted into absorbable forms. What is not useful to the body is then released.
It is obvious to me that I am having difficulty with assimilating some part or parts of my life right now. I have tried to understand what more that I can do to confront and accept the attack. I mean, it happened and I can't change that. I have cried a ocean of tears about what has happened and the ways that my appearance and life have changed. I have talked and read and released and learned and yet I am still hurting. Is there no end to the suffering? Will I never be the same?
These are the questions that have continually risen in my mind and heart recently. Last week I went for routine bloodwork and ended up crying as I sat in the chair during the procedure. I was embarrassed and frustrated with myself. How can something so simple and only slightly uncomfortable bring me to tears? Then I started talking and what I had to say surprised me. I began to share with a few close friends and family, my newly acquired fear of needles and intense pain aversion. Now, no one likes to hurt. We all try to avoid pain but this is intense. The mere thought of something that needs to be done that is uncomfortable will leave me quivering with fear. In fact, an intense desire to scream wells up inside of me and begs to be released. And, the words that form in my mind are, "No more pain! Enough!!"
As I began to share my fear of pain, the truth behind the fear finally emerged. I have spent much time and allowed myself to feel the pain of many of my losses but I had never looked at the horrors of the hospital. Every day was filled with incredible suffering. There was pain that defies expression... there are no words that adequately describe the pain that every day held. Each and every day was a series of procedures or treatments that caused pain. This was on top of the unbelievable pain that I felt from the burns. It hurts to even allow myself to see that part of the story. Bill will never know the suffering that he has brought to me. He meant to "mame" me (his words) but he will never know the rest of the story. He won't know the endless days of excruciating pain that I have endured. Only those closest to me experienced it with me. My children, in particular, were there with me for much of it. They stayed with me around the clock for weeks. They cried and I saw the suffering in their eyes with no ability to soothe their pain. I have been very hesitant to talk with them about the hospital because they suffered also.
But finally, last weekend, I began to talk about the hospital with a friend. He listened and let me cry and I told him some of the painful memories from the hospital. When I talked with my daughter, Erin, that day I shared some of what I was remembering. And my very wise daughter said a few things that I will never forget- "When we are in pain, there is a part of us that wants to be acknowledged." And later, when I told her that I am reluctant to talk about the hospital because, "It's been over 2 years now and people are tired of hearing about it.", she reassured me that, "You have 3 kids that were there with you and we will never be tired of listening to you. We need to talk about it too." And so we remembered, together, some of what we experienced in those weeks that I was in the hospital. And we cried... and I felt less alone and the pain in my belly started to recede and healing of these hidden places began.
Finally, I am beginning to digest another part of what has happened. Only then can I assimilate them into my life... only then can I learn from them and be more and not less because of what has happened. The seed of grace that allows me to see the deeper good will finally move me into that place where I can experience more acceptance of the unacceptable.
acceptance of the unacceptable is the greatest source of grace in the world."
Stillness Speaks by Eckhart Tolle
The problems that I have had with digestion have hit an all time high. Lately, I have been truly miserable. I have thought about the metaphysical meaning behind the problem in an attempt to learn what my body is trying to say. Digestion is the process of assimilation. It is the process by which food is broken down and converted into absorbable forms. What is not useful to the body is then released.
It is obvious to me that I am having difficulty with assimilating some part or parts of my life right now. I have tried to understand what more that I can do to confront and accept the attack. I mean, it happened and I can't change that. I have cried a ocean of tears about what has happened and the ways that my appearance and life have changed. I have talked and read and released and learned and yet I am still hurting. Is there no end to the suffering? Will I never be the same?
These are the questions that have continually risen in my mind and heart recently. Last week I went for routine bloodwork and ended up crying as I sat in the chair during the procedure. I was embarrassed and frustrated with myself. How can something so simple and only slightly uncomfortable bring me to tears? Then I started talking and what I had to say surprised me. I began to share with a few close friends and family, my newly acquired fear of needles and intense pain aversion. Now, no one likes to hurt. We all try to avoid pain but this is intense. The mere thought of something that needs to be done that is uncomfortable will leave me quivering with fear. In fact, an intense desire to scream wells up inside of me and begs to be released. And, the words that form in my mind are, "No more pain! Enough!!"
As I began to share my fear of pain, the truth behind the fear finally emerged. I have spent much time and allowed myself to feel the pain of many of my losses but I had never looked at the horrors of the hospital. Every day was filled with incredible suffering. There was pain that defies expression... there are no words that adequately describe the pain that every day held. Each and every day was a series of procedures or treatments that caused pain. This was on top of the unbelievable pain that I felt from the burns. It hurts to even allow myself to see that part of the story. Bill will never know the suffering that he has brought to me. He meant to "mame" me (his words) but he will never know the rest of the story. He won't know the endless days of excruciating pain that I have endured. Only those closest to me experienced it with me. My children, in particular, were there with me for much of it. They stayed with me around the clock for weeks. They cried and I saw the suffering in their eyes with no ability to soothe their pain. I have been very hesitant to talk with them about the hospital because they suffered also.
But finally, last weekend, I began to talk about the hospital with a friend. He listened and let me cry and I told him some of the painful memories from the hospital. When I talked with my daughter, Erin, that day I shared some of what I was remembering. And my very wise daughter said a few things that I will never forget- "When we are in pain, there is a part of us that wants to be acknowledged." And later, when I told her that I am reluctant to talk about the hospital because, "It's been over 2 years now and people are tired of hearing about it.", she reassured me that, "You have 3 kids that were there with you and we will never be tired of listening to you. We need to talk about it too." And so we remembered, together, some of what we experienced in those weeks that I was in the hospital. And we cried... and I felt less alone and the pain in my belly started to recede and healing of these hidden places began.
Finally, I am beginning to digest another part of what has happened. Only then can I assimilate them into my life... only then can I learn from them and be more and not less because of what has happened. The seed of grace that allows me to see the deeper good will finally move me into that place where I can experience more acceptance of the unacceptable.
posted by Becky Spellman Waltz at 8:22 AM
3 Comments:
I've met you at the hospital and talked to you a couple of times. Finally iv'e decided to write you something. I just haven't been able to. I know exactly how you feel and it's the worst feeling i've ever had. The feeling is worse now a year later for me than it was when it happened to me. Im just starting to relize it to. As much as i want to talk to people about it I feel alot of my friends wont care. It's been a year why keep talking about it? I think your journal entires are great and inspiring and i love reading them.
Dear Anonymous,
I am so honored that you chose to open your heart and share your grief with me. I do understand that healing is slow and we face our pain only when we are ready. The fact that you "feel" it more now tells me that you have grown and are ready to face a greater degree of the truth of what has happened. I commend you for your courage!!
Please know that I am a friend who would be willing to hear you. If you ever want to contact me, you can use the contact address on my homepage. But, either way, I will be praying for you. You are not alone.
P.S. to Anonymous,
Today, I feel less alone because I know that you understand in a way that no one else can.
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