Writing as Healing
I am going to share something that I wrote on the plane when I flew into DC for the first time last August. I didn’t really know what my mother’s medical condition was, or the condition of her home. Often, I turn to writing as a form of coping or healing. Somehow, putting words down on paper and getting the thoughts out of my head is calming for me. I hope that perhaps someone who needs to hear these things will have the opportunity to read it and it will be a springboard as they enter their journey toward healing.
I’m posting it now because I am closing the door, ending an era of my life. As I continue to break free from my childhood, I’m learning that I have to go back and take account of what really happened. This is part of the recovery process. That means I have to face memories that are excruciatingly painful, allowing myself to feel that pain.
Unfortunately, I haven’t discovered a set time frame for how long this period takes. My best guess is that it depends on what you’ve faced, how much time and energy you want to commit, and how long ago it happened.
Whatever may have happened to you, I hope you find the courage to acknowledge that it was real. It hurt. Likewise, you’re probably still trying to break free and move past it.
Writing for healing can take many forms. For example, I have found that writing via this blog has been helpful. Sometimes, I write poetry. Other times, I find it necessary to write out challenging past events.
Today, I am sharing an old writing to encourage and inspire your process. Additionally, I’m ready to move into another phase: re-parenting myself. Re-parenting is about starting to live with healthy habits.
Trauma and Psalm 23
Going home resurrects deep-seated anxiety within me. The laissez-faire days of childhood have long ago been erased by the haunting of shame, false guilt, dread, and embarrassment.
It’s amazing just how much the human soul can tolerate, still functioning in “normalcy”. Its adaptability likens itself to the chameleon. And yet, the past lurks just below the surface mimicking rational thought.
The hurt child grows and matures often, and may in fact appear to have received healing until faced with the return to the childhood home. And in that moment, the soul teeters between anxiety from what it has been unable to let go of and the “expected joy” pressed upon it by others.
How does the frightened child shake off the dust of abuse and neglect and instead cling to the fairy tale-like memories of fleeting joy and happiness which although also experienced have been repressed and beaten?
THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD; I SHALL NOT BE IN WANT. HE MAKES ME LIE DOWN IN GREEN PASTURES, HE LEADS ME BESIDE QUIET WATERS, HE RESTORES MY SOUL.
In silent repose, the soul and body find the ability to heal and be comforted. When the soul and body together are protected and nourished, healing and restoration come.
HE GUIDES ME IN PATHS OF RIGHTEOUSNESS FOR HIS NAME SAKE.
When the broken child’s soul chooses to stop the cycle, to break the curse of abuse and walk a foreign route instead, it can begin to believe that not all things are created for its demise. Perhaps even, in retrospect, the soul can see how their brokenness has also developed character and moral rightness which leads others to ask, “How can this be?”
EVEN THOUGH I WALK THROUGH THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH, I WILL FEAR NO EVIL, FOR YOU ARE WITH ME; YOUR ROD AND YOUR STAFF THEY COMFORT ME.
In the midst of anxiety, the soul sees a glimmer of light above the mountain range of despair looming large on the horizon before it. Like the first fingers of morning sun breaks over the hills, so hope also reaches down to the soul. Even in the depths of the valleys, the low places of life’s turmoils, even there light can reach.
And this hope can give the soul just enough to allow direction–safe, solid, sound–to hem it in and lead it down a path it might otherwise flee.
YOU PREPARE A TABLE BEFORE ME IN THE PRESENCE OF MY ENEMIES.
The broken soul hungers for something more, something better. The leftover crumbs of stale bread it has survived, though never flourished upon, previously just will not do; they will not be accepted at all. Yet a banquet, a grand feast is prepared solely for that soul when it trusts just enough to risk something different and unknown. The feast is for the broken soul alone, and it is held publicly to flaunt to the abusers, the grafters, the usurers the value of that lone, “insignificant” soul.
YOU ANOINT MY HEAD WITH OIL; MY CUP OVERFLOWS.
The benefactor of grace tends the wounds gently of the broken soul. The healer not only cares for present injuries, but also past scars and protects and strengthens the soul from future harm. He goes so far as to not just heal and protect, but to bless beyond measure. The broken soul receives far more than healing and restitution–it becomes more than what it idealizes “could have been”.
SURELY GOODNESS AND LOVE WILL FOLLOW ME ALL THE DAYS OF MY LIFE AND I WILL DWELL IN THE HOUSE OF THE LORD FOREVER.
Find Your Healing Strategy
Ultimately, we each have to find a source of healing and work through our process. I have friends who use photography or other artistic expressions helpful in moving through their journeys out of past hurts. Whatever you try, keep experimenting until you find the thing (or things) that is most beneficial to you.
What works well for you? I’d love to hear how you’re healing! Your ideas may help someone else get started too!
