Anatomy of a Healing

Until quite recently, I imagined that my convoluted, protracted path towards healing was unique. Surely I was the only one who was so breathtakingly fucked up; the only one who couldn’t seem to catch a break; the only one repeatedly getting close but not quite there. Newsflash: I may be special (define that however you will), but I’m not unique. Granted, there may be few people who have experienced the particular combination of events that I have (and I am fully aware of the privilege that afforded me access to the resources necessary to address the fallout from those events). And it may be true that most people’s misfortunes seem to be evenly distributed over a lifetime, rather than arriving in the form of a cluster bomb. None of that matters. The truth is, if you’re recovering from long-term trauma, the details of your situation may differ but the trajectory of your healing will be similar.

Regardless of the external circumstances, healing will be an iterative process with a number of distinct phases. Over time, I learned that my journey through these phases, rather than being remarkable, was pretty textbook.  With the proviso that I’m relating what I’ve personally experienced and learned (I imagine that recovery from acute trauma is different but I’m unqualified to address that), here’s a typical arc:

You wake up. You’ve been sleepwalking through life, willfully oblivious to anything that contradicts your fantasy. You’re disoriented and can’t quite believe the problem (or problems) got so far away from you while you slept.

You’re scared shitless. You can’t deny anymore that big changes are necessary but you have no clue how you’re going to make them and live through the upheaval that lies ahead.

You put one foot in front of the other while you summon the courage to take steps to address the immediate problem(s).

You make big changes. You alternate between feelings of relief and sadness, resolve and wavering.

You’re on a pink cloud. You did it. You’re doing it. The troubles are over. Everything’s gonna be different. Life is gonna be so great.

You crash. The same shit keeps happening in different ways. Or different shit starts happening that leaves you with the same feelings of stress, sadness, anger, and frustration.

Light dawns. It’s you! You are the common denominator.

You start to address that revelation with therapy or other self-awareness modalities.

Hope rises. You’re going to do some work and be just fine. Hell, by next year you’ll be “back to normal”.

You start learning how your particular trauma resulted in your particular unhealthy patterns.

You get pretty sad. And feel pretty foolish and inadequate.

You learn that even though none of what happened to you or how you adapted to survive is your fault, it is your responsibility to fix it. And you have no earthly idea how to do that; how to interrupt those entrenched patterns.

Your anger could power a small country. You’re pissed off at others. You’re furious at yourself. This anger is the energy that allows you to keep going instead of sinking into depression.

You muddle along, riding an emotional roller coaster. You continue to learn and regularly take one step forward and two back.

You become impatient (after all, you’re angry) with your progress. When will you be “done”? The delay becomes one more failing for which to berate yourself.

You develop and hesitantly try out healthier behaviors to replace your previous dysfunctional coping strategies.

As you have some success with these, you gain self-confidence and you can start to see glimmers of real change. Positive thoughts about yourself are beginning to surprise you.

There are people who do not like this. Who, for whatever reason (spoiler alert: none of them good), liked you better the way you were. They’re going to do whatever it takes to try to get you to change back.

You waste way too much time apologizing, explaining, justifying.

You lose people. It’s unavoidable. There are people who would rather lose you than have a reciprocal, respectful relationship. And there are people who will run from your honesty as if they’re being chased by jackals.

You feel alternately furious and victimized by this to the point of becoming distracted from working on yourself. You wonder sometimes if growing and changing are worth it.

Eventually you viscerally grasp that you are it. That you’re the only one, ever, that can take care of you. This is when the concepts of self-love, self-compassion, and radical acceptance start to make sense on an intellectual level, although practical application remains a challenge.

You start gaining lived experience of all you’d been missing: trust, honesty, positive regard, affection, whatever. This confirms you’re on the right track and encourages you to persevere.

“Normal” is no longer an unexamined return to how things once were. You begin to explore other options for yourself and your life.

One day it strikes you that you’ve been acting like a grownup. That you’re almost unrecognizable to your former self.

You congratulate yourself on having grown up; having made it. You plan a victory lap.

The Universe sends you a reminder, usually in the form of a shit sandwich, that there is no limit to personal trials and that you’ll never be “done”.

You get back to work, this time with a deeper understanding. And you eventually embrace the idea that you’ll be learning and growing until you shuffle off this mortal coil. So you keep living your life and applying the skills you’ve developed. Rinse and repeat.

You love your flawed self and your imperfect life. You’ve found peace and contentment. You’re withstanding the storms.

You’re grateful for all of it.

***

Let’s talk! Would you undertake a healing journey if you knew what it really involved? I’m fairly certain that the person I was would have passed. As happens to many people, eventually staying stuck became more painful for me than heading into the unknown, so I took that first step. I firmly believe that blissful ignorance can be the start of a miracle.

And a personal announcement for those of you who don't follow me elsewhere: Back in September I responded to a call for essays on the subject of aging. This past Saturday I was thrilled and honored to watch my essay "Act Three" performed as one of four monologues at Delray Arts Garage. You can read it here.