All scars take time to heal; some never heal. To heal is a journey some of us would rather not take. It is a long and cavernous passage that you must walk through before the weight is lifted off. Healing your wound means that you must, in a way, relive the pain again so you can release it’s hold on you. Breaking down the walls that you have built to safeguard yourself is the hardest step to take. Who wants to go there? Not I. After all, we are human and our readiness to make contact with things that are uncomfortable will depend on several factors: our willingness to feel it, to speak it and to accept it.
To accept our wounds means to see ourselves with a kind and loving eye, to love ourselves like our mama did on her best morning. If we want to love ourselves more fully, we must begin to see the individuals involved (and the circumstances) as impersonal, as part of the bigger plan or we will be weighed down by assumptions and judgement. We will never free ourselves if we are carrying this extra weight. Our power, that energy force that is dormant until it is ignited into perception and action, is realized when we see the difficulties in our life as the inevitable changes that had to move us, to shake us, to break us so that our (powerful and conscious) true self could emerge into being. The power lies in not identifying ourselves as victims of the circumstance but as active participants who chose the painful wisdom that involved learning these lessons.
When the warm weather and the energy of life picks up, I notice the incoming tide of constant distractions, disappointments, busyness, sadness, impulses and impatience. In an effort to deal with this noise, my natural reaction is to control or deny what is happening to me. Here, I know that I am in a complete block. This is also the time when my body is most tense, my muscles are tight and my breath is short. I am reminded time and time again that all I’m doing is trying to frantically keep up, stay afloat and hold it all together. The tension comes from feeling like I must do it alone, that it’s my responsibility to keep it all together. The other truth is much more subtle: how hard it is to sit with uncertainty. The need to know, to analyze, and to package what will or will not happen in the future is paralyzing.
This is usually the time I am nudged to surrender.
To surrender means to pause and relax into the space between doing and being, to give your muscles a chance to loosen and ease into uncertainty. To touch fear. To listen to her. She is only a scared child who needs a soothing word. Surrender, my love, I tell myself. Quietly, peacefully, and humbly I hold the frantic and anxious being in me. I hold her and I tell her that not knowing is ok. Not being able to prepare yourself for something that hasn’t happened yet is ok. Not having it all together is ok. Not being perfect is ok. Being scared is ok. You are ok. You are ok. You are ok.
In the flow of a calming manta, I am guided to surrender to the ‘not-knowing’, to the truth that I am not in control of people or circumstances. I am only in control of how I walk through a situation and what I take away from the interaction. I remember that everything has meaning even if I am not able to connect it right now. I come back to the small steps I have taken to heal this wound, breath by breath. I come back to a heart full of gratitude for ALL my blessings, be they hard or joyous. I allow this gratitude to expand my chest. I come back to the tools that I have gathered on this journey. I come back to my support system that spans the continents of my heart. I come back to the breath that makes everything come alive. I come back to the song my spirit sings when my body is in awe. I come back to the quiet miracles that remind me how special this Great Experiment is.
And each time I come back into surrender, I heal a little bit more.