LIFE FORCE

LIFE FORCE 

I don’t do grief well. It’s scary to express my feelings. But I know from first-hand experience that it is devastating to our body, mind, and spirit to avoid them. I used to do one of two things: either tip toe around challenging issues with the hopes they would go away; Or face my emotions with a roar and grind them into the ground until they became so murky and mangled that they could hardly be recognized for what they were. An opportunity to experience love. 

Generally, uncomfortable feelings arise comes when I can’t have my own way, or when I can’t fix things the way I think they should be fixed. Sound selfish? This was never truer than when my first husband took his own life. I wanted him to come back. Now! I needed to repair our unresolved issues. I wanted to tell him I was angry, that I was sorry, that I love him.

Totally helpless, I hid my tears in the dark and stuffed my tattered emotions into the corners of my soul where no one else could see. 

I despise struggle. Generally, it’s in my nature to put a band aid on a sore, kiss it, and make it all better. Unfortunately, I can’t always do that. It’s then that feelings of helplessness or unworthiness or self-loathing swirl around me, bitter pills that are hard to swallow, and yet I do it anyway. Mix that toxic cocktail with shame and guilt, and I’m holding in my hand a recipe for disaster. 

Some things aren’t mine to fix. 

There’s something about unexpected loss. When I was told of my husband’s passing, a bomb went off inside. My ears rang. My body went numb. Life stood still, and the hands on the clock stopped moving. While all around me family and friends cried, I heaped their pain onto my shoulders wishing I could make it all go away. When I could no longer bear the weight of all this grief, I shoved it deeper into myself, slowly poisoned my entire being, and stopped feeling all together.

For decades (yes-decades) I drifted through life striving for perfection in everything I did. The only emotion I expressed was anger at my own failings and others’ misunderstanding.  Whenever I tried to show love or joy, or simply cry, it seemed wrong, insincere, weak. I had to be strong.  

I spoke to counselors and clergy, attended different churches, and drank too much wine. Crashing through one misadventure after another, I hoped to run faster than the agony of grief that followed me everywhere and cast a shadow over every relationship I touched. Even success in business didn’t soften the hardness that became the mask I wore daily to hide the despair that dwelt within. 

Lao Tzu, Chinese philosopher said, “When the student is ready, the teacher will appear...” 

Somehow, I found the courage to pursue my passion—a lifelong dream to write. I took classes, attended writers’ conferences, and worked with critique partners to master the craft. But my characters were emotionless and stilted in their reactions. I struggled to dive into their turbulent seas to find what made them real. But I couldn’t seem to get below the surface

It wasn’t until I met my counselor and now good friend, Trevor Wry of Inflow Health Systems, that I learned the value of expressing my emotions. He says, “True joy is never contained. It is expressed. Your heart will always lead you to your beauty. True surrendering comes from realizing the internal gifts that are yours to give the world.” 

At my first visit, I told him I wanted to learn how to build barriers against the negativity that seemed to surround me. “Just tell me how. I’m a quick study,” I said. I wasn’t about to pour out sob stories about my past to a counselor who nods and writes notes before closing the session with, “See you next week?”[i]

Because, if I could shield myself from all the pain in the world that made me want to run and hide, then I could touch my own feelings, and then maybe I could write them into my characters.

All he said to me was, “I’m glad you’re here.”  

Wanting to touch my own feelings was the spark that ignited my healing. 

During sessions, I lie face up on a padded table in a dimly lit room where warm fragrance and Trevor’s healing touch took me to a safe place without the threat of judgment. The supine position exposed my vital organs, my churning belly, my constricted throat, my aching heart. I was vulnerable. I didn’t like it; but with faith and prayer, I decided to trust the process. It was then that I began to explore how surrendering to my vulnerabilities could open my heart.

On that table, I cried like never before. I laughed hysterically and babbled incessantly. My body trembled and spasmed as, through the process, I released pent up emotions to God whom I’d distanced myself from and who had so lovingly led me to Trevor’s door. 

Our natural state is Peace. When I choose to stifle my feelings, I block the pathway to peace.

God said, “Peace I give to you, not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” What a beautiful, loving gift.

I can be vulnerable. It’s then that I can understand another’s vulnerability. I can be sad. Only then can I have compassion for someone else’s sadness. When I connect with my emotions, I can connect with others. And, when I connect with others, there is love.  

Today I “Celebrate My Grief” and thank God that feeling is everything I imagined and more. It’s my life force.

[i] excerpt from Beyond the Dark – coming in November 2020; www.amazon.com/author/cyfoley