The first time I allowed fear to move through me, instead of ignoring it, was in my mid thirties when I started healing from trauma, addiction and chronic guilt, shame. There were moments I shook and quivered. A lifetime of fear and panic I never let myself feel releasing itself.
I cried almost every day for months on end. Suppressed tears I’d never allowed myself to express as a little girl. All the tears I swallowed as not to make others feel uncomfortable. The sadness I cloaked with false and fabricated cheerfulness welled up and finally burst through my being - at last I honoured my grief.
There were moments I howled and groaned like an animal on the bathroom floor. Giving voice to my rage, anger and disappointments. Primal sounds I never had heard before. Sounds that weren't ‘pretty’ or ‘soft’ or ‘gentle’, but loud and raw and wild. The power! The sound of my truth! I matter!
I was feeling. Everything. All. Of. The. Time. I didn't know how to do this - healing. But something inside me did.
Some days I was in awe and reverence of a flower. A sunset. The sound of my little dog sleeping. Other days I slipped into enormous despair and hopelessness. A rollercoaster ride of messy, agonising, beautiful, ecstatic sensations.
Feeling - A purge. A cleanse. Where once there was distortion. Suppression. Denseness. Numbness. There now was room to breathe. To reset. Restore. Rebuild.
I did lose my mind. And in moments it terrified me. Yet I knew that I could not heal in the same way in which I broke. My mind had to break. Everything I thought to be true. My foundations. My conditioning. My beliefs. It had to shatter. In my craziness I surrendered. I let go of the idea that my healing needed to be ‘tidy’ and ‘zen like’. That it had to be perfect and blissful and that forgiveness would come effortlessly because I was being ‘spiritual’. I let go. And I embodied the realness of life. The fucked up rawness that is authentic healing. I was learning to come back to myself. To trust that which I felt within the core of my being. To be intimate with my own process, without criticising, judging or trying to mend the broken pieces of my former self. To express the truth of who I am beyond what I thought I knew to be true.
Trauma got me here - my greatest teacher.
Healing can be messy. And I am learning to be with it all.