heal | reverse threading

“people start to heal the moment they feel heard.” (cheryl richardson)

it is not likely we always know. moments when people are sharing something with us – something raw, something of import, something life-changing. no, we don’t always know. because these things of significance – along with great gravitas – don’t always come with drumrolls or prologue announcements. they are stammered out, with some reticence and a side of fear. and we have a choice – an opportunity – as someone standing nearby or walking alongside, someone close-in or someone peripheral. it matters not – in humankind – our interconnectivity supersedes our concentric circle.

as we stand – in the fire – with someone who is sharing, our presence acknowledges their pain, their angst, their experience, their feelings. our being-there shines light into dark, into the fog.

in our indifference, we yield great power to hurt others, to walk on, to overtly turn our attention away from the sharer, to underplay this very part of their journey they wish to share.

she said, ” it is vitally important how those around react to the news of trauma, for that is powerfully profound in how a person heals.” both the overt overlooker and the covert minimizer add to the burden one is already carrying, the burden that will likely be buried further and further inside – more and more difficult to excavate, heal and release.

instead, we can choose not to perpetuate the pain of others. and they can aid us in transforming the place where our own pain may be held. we can each reach beyond silence – for the other. we can hover with each other and offer wisps of hope.

we can bear witness.

it doesn’t take much. we are all together in this big world – full of the potential not only to delight us but to devastate us. we walk together. we can support others in feeling heard. it’s really the least we can do: listen. really listen.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY

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we waited for it. and the bit o’ sun showed up on christmas morning – after several days of fog. it was a moment of hope – to see that shining orb trying to burn its way through. it didn’t last long – it ended up raining – but it counts that it was there.

i woke early the other morning. snugged under the comforter and the quilt, open window by my side, i could hear birds. it’s unusual to hear them quite so zealous in the winter, but for a few minutes – on this not-as-cold winter dawn – they were there and it was exquisite.

we walked through the antique shoppe and stumbled across the frame of a lampshade tied with bits of muslin, satin and gauze. i was immediately back in the old farmhouse in iowa where several fabric-ed repurposed lampshades hung in a corner. we walked on, but that time-spent surrounded me for a few minutes and i texted the owner of the airbnb – just to let her know about this visceral fondness – the memories. they were there, swirling around me.

some things are indelible. they etch into us as touchstones of comfort. the sun, early-morning birds, memories. they feed us in times of extreme hunger, times when we really need something to hold onto that is somehow tangible even in its fleeting.

and some things are meant to be laid down. they are shadows. they starve us, they compel us into deeper waters where it’s harder to differentiate good from not-good and we feel a bit lost, out to sea. it’s too noisy, too raucous, too frenetic – when we are merely seeking serenity. we work to lay it all down – that which impedes us, which makes us stumble, which blocks us.

in this very first week of the new year i am hoping that this is the year i personally may be able to put a few things to rest. we all have them – those open manila file folders in our heads or hearts. i – like you – yearn to take a sharpie, label them “done”, slap the folders closed and staple them shut.

but even in this rapidly-approaching-medicare age of mine, i know there is work to get there. nothing worth doing is easy…isn’t that the saying? though i don’t have the flip-the-page-a-day-over-the-metal-u-rings-at-a-glance calendar that my sweet momma had, i want to flip the pages over to get there.

we all take out the manila folders and peek inside. it’s a hunger. to get to “done” on those folders and to get to “start” or “start again” on others.

and sustenance helps. the generous. the most basic. even crumbs. even the most transitory, the most evanescent. if it was there – if it fed us – it counts.

*****