The girls are in a transition: one off at college, the second a senior and struggling with what she wants to be "when she grows up," my baby starting high school. They are all-consuming to me. And yet, these two years are not just about them.
Our pastor preached yesterday about how everyone should get involved, don't just attend Sunday morning, take ownership of our church's mission in reaching the world. When we got into the car, my youngest slouched against the door in the back seat and with a sigh said, "I suppose we're going to get involved now?"
My answer was no, no more than some fellowship and a little service. Not the old pattern of being at the church before the doors were really open and staying until long in the afternoon. I referred back to the "two years." When I quit graduate school, I spent two years sorting through what had happened with my college education, finding my spiritual and political footing after a time of trial. Now, having left a church we loved and served wholeheartedly, my whole family is still finding our footing, testing our foundation, and taking a deep breath.
On the church staff where I served, we experienced a moral sink hole, and I thought, wow, I'm going to take a year to grieve this. Various events after that kept me from really having that year of grieving; sometimes life is just messier than we'd like. I tried to google this issue of healing emotionally from big life events. Maybe I didn't know how to ask the question. I couldn't find anyone talking about it.
When my mom finished her chemo treatments, for a cancer we feared would kill her, she was told, "Congrats! Come back in three months." And there she was, back on her own doorstep, physically weak, thin, overwhelmed, and small. Congrats! You're still alive, and your medical treatment is over. Really? She looked like a near-drowned, ematiated cat. No help to put her life back together. No understanding that she was now entering another stage of healing. She really hadn't "arrived" anywhere yet.
I spoke with a mom recently whose daughter battled cancer in this last year, only in her early twenties. She sounded exhausted: the time they had given to treatment, the money, the neglect everyone else in the family had suffered during this incredible focused time of fighting.
Recovery time. I wish there was a bracelet or t-shirt or bumper sticker.
I once heard of an African tribe that handled trauma this way: the afflicted person, the one who survived the loss, would just sit around. Do nothing. For however long it took to heal. And the community would watch and be understanding. Then one day, he would rise up and return to normal life.
I couldn't find our Western "five steps to total emotional health." So let me throw out a few things that I have learned about recovery. It takes longer than you think. You question a lot of things and sometimes feel very frustrated at the lack of answers. Sometimes you have a bad day emotionally. It is draining to do all the work, but each day is a gift, and it does get better. People can help. Time alone can help. Don't let yourself drown in it. Just as you fought through the trauma, you will fight to recover your footing.
And I also know that God is good.
(The photo of a snow-covered chair was taken by Bonnie Camp, resident and photographer of the Oklahoma Panhandle.)
2 comments:
Absolutely correct. We have no way in our western culture and society to allow people to heal. We expect them to slingshot themselves back into life. It isn't a depression that people fight when they are healing and recovering, though it is often mistaken for that. It is simply a healing time. A time of rest and as God says there is a time for everything. We must rest and He has often given me the times that I so desperately need to sit and rest and do nothing. It is a time of being quiet and listening to God's voice. A time of reflection, a time of pulling away from the world. Almost a time of retreat and grieving, a time of thanksgiving and a time of fragility, a time of incredible focus. To me the only way to describe it would be that like the hermit crab our shells were too small and we are now looking for a new one. So we are vulnerable, weak and totally reliant on God for his protection. We are in one of those times right now and the focus of our lives has changed because of it. We are working on changes on that are inside our home and lives. Heart changes, body changes, grieving things that are lost, hoping for things in the future, celebrating the small joys that somehow are also big victories in our lives. Thanks for your blog post. You can tell that it really hit home.
Hermit crabs...yes! And how lovely that you used the description "fragile." I've been telling my hubby for days now how emotionally fragile I feel, like I fall off a cliff with the slightest bump in the road. And your description is so accurate. The emotions we feel in this time of retreat are not all negative, not at all. Just looking for a new shell and needing the peace and space to do so.
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