When you begin to look at your own heart, to really look at it and see the darkness and also that beautiful capacity for both hurt and love, there is a great awareness that begins to dawn- and in that awareness comes the realization that each of us walking around this muddy planet have places of darkness and beauty. When you realize this basic truth, you begin to see yourself and others with new eyes.
I used to pride myself on my 'strength'. I rarely cried and didn't like that show of emotion. I didn't like the feeling I had of losing control of my emotions... except for anger. The anger often ran over like water.
Suffering has a way of burning off the chaff so that new growth can blossom. Seeds of beauty that haven't been nurtured and have been sleeping in the deep, dark soil, are freed to push through the ashes and grow into coverings of color, and beauty, and depth.
When I was still married, I knew at a soul-knowing level that things were wrong. I mentioned before how I hoped my way along, and since I wasn't living with truth, I was powerless to change things. When life exploded for me, when the truth was laid bare, the pain was at once blinding and freeing. Knowing the reality of my life gave me the vantage point to be able to assess the damage and start the process of building.
As I waded through new realities that I had been living with on a daily basis but had been blind to, I began to learn how to weep. How to grieve. How to allow the deep sadness and dark blanket of death to settle into my heart and begin its work. When allowed, I believe that the grieving process can actually be the catalyst for new life. As we give ourselves over to the death of what was, and make space for what needs to be birthed in us, the ability to feel not only our own hurts but to recognize and empathize with the hurts of those around us develops into a beautifully honed skill.
My personal grieving process has been quite self absorbed. I wasn't able to maintain the relationships and commitments that I had previously carried. Sitting with a new reality and laying my marriage to rest took everything I had to give. I turned inward and began the painstaking task of sweeping clean the crevices of my heart and soul. The energy spent just surviving a death (of any kind) is all consuming and laid waste to anything I had to give. In the last few months, I have begun to see light again. The heavy blanket that had been tucked around my heart has begun to lift and I am feeling lighter and brighter and very tender-hearted. I feel as though I have walked from a dark theater into the bright sun of day and have to blink and squint and rub my eyes to protect them against the blinding brightness that comes from the life giving sun. With new eyes and a keen awareness of those around me, I now see pain behind so many cautious faces. I am approached in public by people who know me as well as strangers who each want to tell me their story, and I believe it is because in my face there is now a light that shines and draws in the hurting.
I have been given the privilege in the last months of hearing the stories of many women. Women who are working through their own places of disappointment, disillusionment, grief, and anger. I have found that as I listen, and watch them lay bare their souls to mine, that I can no longer stop the flow of tears. The 'strength' I used to think I had in damming up that waterfall has been replaced with the tender place of grace I long to offer those who are courageous enough to share parts of their lives with me.
I know I still have work to do. There will never be a finish line where I get to stop running and know that I have the badge of 'healed up tight'. But I revel in that truth. I love knowing that as far as I've come, the road stretches ahead with more growing, more connection, more beauty, and even the knowing that I can swim in deep waters. My tender heart is now my badge of strength. The ability to be cut deeply by standing with a woman as she grieves her way, the knowing that all of us have deep and precious stories, the privilege of holding space for other women as they work through their dark and beautiful places is something I am proud of. Your stories are priceless. Beautiful. At times both painful and dark; and I can't think of anything I'd rather do more than to be a player in your story as we learn to walk these roads together. Thank you for holding space for me, and know that I am here for you.
Much love.
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