Some wounds are buried so deep. Some wounds are present for so very long. We forget. We learn to wall off, compartmentalize, and the pain is lessened. We cope, we adapt, and we pretend. And, we think we are successful. “It’s in the past” we tell oursevles, “I am beyond that part of my life,” we tell others.
And we forget that all wounds stay as wounds until we are loved. You can deny, you can pretend it didn’t happen, but the psyche does not forget. And it does not forget for one important reason- every wound is a call to your greatest self. The wounds are the opportunities. To deny our sense of pain, to dishonor ourselves by not wrapping our own loving arms around our wounds and whispering, “It’s o.k. Your’e o.k., you don’t have to hurt anymore” is to continue to live a life of pain.
The following pictures points to an opening of a wound I thought I had moved beyond.
The picture shows penetration of triangular forces. In some way, the events that transpired felt oppressive, pointed, injurous to me. I had a wound (the black opening) and despite my best protection (the rocks) the wound was found with deadly, targeted aim. I sat and I cried, only then remembering what I had longed to forget. And in that moment of penetration, the tiny core of the wound (green rock, green=heart), light entered and I knew I would survive.
The issue that had set all of this off I described in an earlier blog (which I have since removed). I had found out my stepchildren’s mother, who had informed everyone of her job loss, continued to be paid for another month and a half. She told no one she was continuing to receive income. I had watched my stepchildren live in stress and fear that Mommy had no money. And, I felt their pain. When I found out she could have lessened their pain, I freaked. I cried. I screamed. And, I finally asked myself, “Why?” And, I knew. I had grown up poor. I know the overwhelming fear of a child who worries that there will never be enough to take care of everyone’s need. I knew the thoughts of a child who is saving up pennies so a parent can afford food.
Having worked so hard in my life to earn a good living, I thought I had left the “wound” of poor-ness behind. I had not. My upset at this situation was that having lived this experience myself, I could not fathom why a Mother would place her children under such psychological stress without needing to do this. And, yet, that is what she did.
And I learned. A part of me was frozen in the idea of being poor, of not having enough, and my fear of not being able to take care of myself or others that I love.
Shame on her for manipulating her children in this manner. But, for myself, I learned I had a wound that I that I thought was in the past, only to realize it was a wound that needed light and my loving attention.
I am not poor. I have the love of my family, friends, and my own sense of self. Gifts to myself and others that are priceless.