Trekking Through Trauma

If you have ever been through therapy, you know there is not a line drawn down the middle of your life with good things on one side and bad things on the other. And I say ‘through therapy,’ not ‘in therapy,’ as ‘in therapy’ implies that you can be ‘out of therapy.’ When I was going ‘through therapy’ after a spiritual crisis, it felt like I was going through one of those old-fashioned wringers on an old tub washer—my old life was being crushed, wrung out, flattened. I felt like the energy and purpose of what I thought life was all about was being snuffed out of me. There was no ‘in therapy’ then returning to ‘normal life’ when I left a session—it affected every aspect of my life and left me exhausted, crumpled, and changed.

Having a very strong line of demarcation between right and wrong when I was young was a coping mechanism for me to feel like the world was orderly. It helped me feel more safe, more in control. Things were easier to sort—either you’re with me or against me, it’s good or it’s bad, it’s black or it’s white. And I was the arbitrator of those judgements. My world view was narrow. That worked for a while. But as I got older, there were things that clashed with my categories. If I love this person, how can I vanquish this part of their life to the ‘bad category?’ Wait, the person I voted for did what?! That’s not acceptable. If this action helps one person and harms many others, what does that mean? Things weren’t an easy call anymore. Things were confusing. The huge gray area between black and white opened up my narrow world and threw me for a loop.

In order to process the gray area of our larger lives we must process the black, white, and gray areas of our own personal lives. The line of demarcation was strong down the middle of my own life, in my own head and heart. I rejected parts of myself. I made up stories in my head to try to make sense of my categories. I embraced the actions and people that made me feel like my point of view was the ‘right’ one. I ignored my individual desires, then projected those grievances onto others. How could they?! Not how could I not? So going through therapy exposed all of those thoughts, feelings, and actions that I grew up with. It showed me that I very smartly did those things to feel safe and to feel some control. It opened up different ways of thinking and different possibilities. My life through therapy became a giant puzzle, not a bin of good or bad. Each reaching back into my past retrieved a piece of the puzzle that clicked into place. Oh, yes, that makes sense. Holy cow—yes! Oh, no, really? Such sadness. Parts of my present life fit perfectly with the pieces that I had assembled from my past. The picture of my life was coming together—it was finally beginning to make sense. And it was my life, with all the good, bad, indifferent, compelling, benign, happy, grief-filled, hard, and satisfying parts of my life—all in the big picture of who I am.

That was almost fifteen years ago. Therapy never ends. Once you go through it, it tends to stay with you. You ask the questions to yourself. You try to figure out if any of the puzzle pieces were in the wrong place, even if they looked like they fit back then. The past year, no, make that two or more years, has kind of messed up my puzzle again. I have a ton of questions about our world, about the divide in our country—that black and white divide, about the actions of elected leaders, about people making up stories to fit the wished-for narrative in their head and heart. Believe me, I get it. But it has shaken my sense of safety and rightness. So I do what I have always done when I feel shaken or lost or scared or upset—I get outside. Mother Nature soothes me. My world becomes bigger than the mess that scares me as I immerse myself in the small details of the Life that intrinsically holds the seeds of creation. I find things that make me happy.

Why would anyone choose therapy that seems so hard and harrowing? Not everyone who chooses is in the midst of a crisis like I was, but at the time, I just needed some relief from the pain of the crisis. I didn’t know how hard the journey of relief was going to be. But even in the midst of the difficulty, there was relief as well as exhaustion in the artesian well of tears that flowed from my eyes. There was relief when another puzzle piece clicked together where before there was a numb emptiness. There was relief in developing an awareness of myself where before there was an outsized fear of what could happen. There was also an immense sense of holiness I felt during the process and certainly looking back at it. It was hard, holy work. God was with me then just as God was with me during my young years when fear controlled my narrative. The harrowing trek was worth it. The crisis was there for a reason. It pushed me to action, it pushed me to truth, it pushed me to awareness. I didn’t have to reject any pieces of myself or of my life anymore. The black and white sorting bins were gone. And with that reconciliation came more order, more control of my life, and more safety—all of the things I yearned for when I was young. My adversity led me towards fruition. It’s not like I have arrived—I’m still on the journey. Things can still shake me and make me want to go back to hiding in fear. But Nature helps me breathe deep relaxing breaths again. She shows me how shadows can become butterflies. How curiosity partners with knowledge and truth. How treasures can show up on our doorstep in routine life and when we least expect but need them the most. Nature shows us how Goodness is restored.