Tag Archive for: healing

Angst, agony, excitement and hope…

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You can feel the energy building in your body, your head spinning….realize you must find a way to manage it….

Lace us your shoes; you leave your Air Pods home and now listen to each footfall, hoping you will find the answer to the question that is rattling your insides, even though the question itself is unclear.

You’ve been here before, this restless, angsty spot that feels both frustrating and exciting at the same moment. And even though you have felt this restlessness before, each time it is again surprising and unknown.

Maybe you are a high school senior, with a horizon full of dreams, questions, fears and possibilities. Or you are a newly pregnant mama with so many feelings at once. Perhaps your spot is one of fear, and unknowns you didn’t ask for. You are on an edge of new things, even though you simply long for “the old.” Maybe you are in a job that has lost the joy and you dream every day of the next or new chapter. Finding love again after a broken heart, a job transfer, retirement or something else. Maybe you are taking on a new challenge in your career or longing to add “____________” to your story.

Whatever THIS spot is for all of us, It IS both an exciting and terrifying one. Sometimes the both/and is an extremely difficult thing to hold inside ourselves.

The older I get, the more I realize that living in the both/and is far more important and “normal,” than it is to have a “definitive answer.” What I mean is, most of the time I am teaching how to acknowledge and get comfortable with the unknowns rather than helping with a single dimension of emotions and experiences.

I recently spoke with a parent who is newly divorced and is adjusting to a new life, including shared custody of their child.

“Stacy, I can’t just be ok. As soon as I pick up my child, which I counted minutes until I could do so, I immediately begin dreading the moment when I have to bring them back to my ex.”

This is actually a common difficulty that is voiced to me in the privacy of therapy. I cannot imagine that sense of joy and dread at the same moment. I pray for many who find themselves in this situation – it is one of the most difficult in the world from my perspective.

I spoke with another parent who said to me, “dropping my child off and leaving them at a college many hours away from our home is one of the hardest things I have ever done.” The sheer agony of separation after you have poured your heart and soul into them is impossible to comprehend. And, the joy of watching our beloved kids soar? Well, that too is indescribable. I can relate.

The now and not yet…

both…and.

Our lives are more full of these sentiments than the moments of feeling just one feeling (and now that I mention it, we’d all just love to feel “good.” would we not? )

I can see so many clients, friends and families faces as I type. It is agony to be IN the hard; pure agony. And, when we have someone with us, to hear, hold, yell, comfort and understand, it becomes a bit easier.

May I give you a glimpse into my office – where both/and is the standard?

She hung her head and cried until her whole body shook. I sat across from her in my office, feeling my own heart hammer as she described “fighting cancer again.” Her journey held so much insult this time around. She and her husband had both just retired, planned a “trip of a lifetime,” and now had to forgo it so she could begin a grueling and hopefully life-saving regimen of chemotherapy.

“I know you are going to BOTH/AND.” She blew her nose in soggy Kleenex and I leaned toward her with a box of new ones. She took two out of the box, then blew her nose demurely.

“Yes, I might….but then again, maybe not yet,” I answered her. We talked about her faith, her love for Jesus and her anger at him that seemed to bubble up without any warning. We talked about the injustice of the new diagnosis, mere months after a routine checkup with her family doctor. We talked plainly about fear and the terror of death. Then she straightened up, sat primly in my office chairs and tried to switch gears, I think for my benefit.

“I’m sorry, I’m good now…I’m sorry I cried.” She looked at me from across the room and I felt internally sad at the whiplash she had just been through. She began finding every single reason to get away from the subject she had just wept about.

“That must be so hard to have such limited time to feel all these hard emotions,” I started gently.

“No, I am fine!” She stated with false bravado.

“You are allowed to be scared.” I said, meeting her eyes. “Do you know that it’s ok to say that, both here and anywhere you need to?” She dissolved into shaking sobs again, soaking another Kleenex.

Our next few months were filled with ALL the both/ands, fears of leaving her beloved family, loathing about medical side affects of chemotherapy, injustice and cancer; comfort found in her well-worn Bible and relationship with Jesus Christ and her wonderings about heaven. She wouldn’t talk about it, much, just referring to it, “when I get there.”

We talked often about my favorite Psalm, 13. It is the ultimate both/and to me.

She continues to fight the cancer that threatens her body, but not her heart and soul. She only rolls her eyes a little when I still mention both/and. Her eyes glisten when she speaks of being with Jesus and loved ones she longs for. In this context, the excitement for heaven is as real as the hope for more time.

She continues to teach me more than I believe I teach her. Love, passion, drive and joy in the life she gets to continue living. Not letting fear drive, we say throughout our time together.

She is just one that I have the honor of spending my days with. One of the strongest I’ve ever met, along with her family. There are others in their own middle, each battling to hold feelings that seem to oppose one another. They tell me often about being disgruntled that they know both/and AND grateful that they know both/and.

That is exactly right, being able to acknowledge our grief, pain and fear that may not be best described with words….and, holding unswervingly to the hope we profess.

“Stacy. When will I get THERE? When will I just be ok?” You would be shocked at how often I am asked this or something very similar. Oh, my heart WISHES I could answer this in the way soo many would like me to…I cannot. I often answer with something like this: “I know it’s so hard to wait…how do you care for yourself in the waiting for the next right step.” This is my verbal reply. Most of the time, this is the answer in my own head, sometimes a version a what I say to clients, my beloveds, or myself: “You are getting there, In exactly the right time, in the way he allows. If there is the right college decision, getting an answer after tryouts, awaiting test results, finding fulfillment, love or purpose after a long drought, Jesus is already there. Keep holding on, trusting yourself and being kinder than necessary. In the meantime, give grace. Listen more, speak less. Be a friend to yourself and others. Allow for the whole range of being human, feeling all the things, receiving comfort in many ways and trusting that somehow, all shall truly be well, even when we can’t see it.”

xoxo

Both/And

Psalm 13

What Disney has taught me about traumatic loss…

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(Disney Part 2.)

I have long considered the things I learn from Disney. Some things fun, others silly, still others poignant, which is I think is the biggest draw for most people who return again and again. I know myself well enough to to know as well, that I can find meaning in almost everything, something that at 50, I’ve learned to love about myself. With my calling in life being family, relationships, following Jesus Christ and leaning into the counseling career God has brought me to, Disney is part of my learning and teaching every day.

I’m not sure how old I was when I saw Bambi the first time. I remember Bambi’s big, baby eyes, his mother’s kind and loving voice; the way the music took me on a musical journey from, “drips to drops,” storms and then back to the cozy thicket. The bond they shared through various seasons and then, the forlorn cries for his mother following panic and fear in the meadow. The truth from his father: “your mother can’t be with you anymore.”

As gut-wrenching as that scene will always be, Disney created such a beautiful picture (in 1942) about the circle of life, family bonds, love, joy, heartbreak, growth and around again. Without really saying words, Disney gave the image of Bambi persevering, even after the loss of his beloved mother. With still further trauma in a raging forest fire, there are further images of perseverance and finally, Bambi’s rise to adulthood and leadership.

In Old Yeller, 15 year old Travis is tasked with “adulthood,” in protecting his mother and brother on the prairie while his father is away. While the song is catchy and probably a memory itself, the story always grabbed my attention as a kid as well: the loyalty of a stray, the winning over of Travis’s heart, difficulties of family life and the bravery of Travis to euthanize his beloved dog when illness struck. The selflessness of that scene is stunning and brave.

What amazes me still, so many years after the production of these movies is how the creators struck a balance between the realities of life, death and the sense of natural progress toward health, perseverance and continued life. Though I was young when I saw these the first time and I didn’t have the awareness that I have now, I look back at all of the lessons in so many Disney movies with wonder.

When The Lion King was released in 1994, I was one year away from college graduation. I was in the thick of studying to become a social worker, a true Disney fan and I had experienced my first traumatic loss barely a year before. I did not realize how I was still in the throes of grief, or how this poignant movie would change me for the good. From the first strains of the first song, (if you know what I mean, you KNOW…) The Lion King was majestic. The animation had come such a long way during the renaissance of the 80’s and 90’s, as well as the heartfelt music. I’ve long heard that the Broadway production of the Lion King is “a spiritual experience” as well.

As beautiful as it began, Disney brought fans to the height of wonder, down to the true and intentional malicious nature of Scar, quite quickly. It depicted the bond between King Mufasa and Simba, father and son – teaching, guiding, discipling and laughing in such a natural and beautiful way that when Mufasa was brutally murdered just a few short minutes later, I wonder if audiences even knew what had hit them.

I remember sitting in the theater with college friends, in tears, then sobs as Simba tiptoed near his father’s body after the stampede. My heart even then, wondered how children endure such loss of parents when they are so young. I resonated with losing someone who you desperately want back.

Disney depicted Simba’s grief journey in again, such stunning and natural ways, the shock, bargaining, and avoidance; deep sadness, the reconciling we all do in whatever our process of grief. One of my favorite scenes, STILL, is the scene in which Simba runs, believing he will somehow find his father. Instead, is the reality when sees only his own reflection, fights frustration, then hears his father’s voice, “Remember who you are….”

Over the course of time and nearly 30 years of experience in counseling including grief and loss, end-of-life care and trauma, I have learned how shaken we can become while enduring loss. This certainly has varying degrees, depending on each individual, circumstances surrounding the loss and how we process. I often spend time normalizing spiritual conversations and the difficulties of who we are, why or the purpose for a loss “happening to us.”

Mufasa’s voice, urging Simba to remember “who you are,” for me, has some of the tone I hear in the Book of Job. After losing all his possessions, family, health – Job is struggling, grieving and just cannot understand. Though Job wrestles, God does not answer all of his “WHY’s??” God instead reminds Job (and us) that it is HE who knows the number of our days, the sovereignty he possesses and the way he works all things together for good. He asks us to remember, (even in the wrestling, profound loss, realigning after a loss or even being shaken to our core,) that WE ARE HIS. Remember…

When the movie UP arrived in theaters, I had two small kids who kept me hoping! I might have been in a bit of a fog with a 4 and 2 year old. We rented the DVD, because in 2009, that was still a thing and admittedly, we missed this one in the theater. We settled in for family movie night for what I thought was going to be something else entirely. (Like I said, probably toddler-mom-brain-fog.) While we munched popcorn and I had the kids snuggled in my lap, I found the tears falling quickly in the first 12 minute montage. The life of Carl and Ellie gave me a glimpse again, of the journeys I encounter with many clients. How the animators captured such deep love in the face of Carl, the hardness that grief can produce, the way we sometimes find ourselves unrecognizable AND the hope that can be found in others throughout the loss of loved ones, can only be explained by assuming that the animators themselves MUST HAVE endured profound loss themselves.

Another amazing truth that UP conveys, is the normalcy of continued relationship with a person who has died. I know this may be a little tricky, so keep reading, please!

As I walked through that first loss of my Gram, I had a dear friend and mentor at Hope College who spent time with me, normalizing my shock, understanding my many emotions and explaining grief in ways that helped me heal. One day he told me how he had seen a client who had set the table for themselves and their spouse for nearly two years after the loss of their spouse. I was surprised at the way Jim talked about this and then explained, “that might be a little on the extreme side of grief, but we continue to have relationship with our person even after they’ve died.” It brought tremendous comfort to me, as I was furious that people were referring to my Gram as “she was…” almost instantly. Jim further explained that the relationship means talking about them, remembering, telling the stories, acclimating the loss into our “new normal.”

There are cases, (often exaggerated on tv or movies) that involve people suffering mental illness and believing their person is still alive and with them. This is not what I am referring to regarding continued relationship. If you are someone struggling to decipher between the two in the midst of loss, please seek a professional grief therapist to support you. Grief is such hard work….

The relationship that Carl has with Ellie even after her death feels healthy, though still gut-wrenching in its physical loss. But he also carries her with him and ultimately learns how to channel that into a profound relationship with Russell. I so love how she is carried on in Carl’s present, as I have seen countless others do as well.

One last example….

In Frozen 2, we find Anna, desperate to protect the relationship that has evolved with her sister Elsa after enduring a tragic loss of their parents and even lonelier grief process for them both in the first Frozen. As Elsa now chooses to follow her own path, Anna finds herself again enduring heartbreak. First, the loss of Olaf, her trusted friend, then also believing Elsa has perished. Below is a clip of the haunting song she sings, willing herself toward, “the next right thing.” It is profound to me, a mirror of the many hours I have listened to those left breathless following a loss. I’ve heard from many clients how it is “exactly right” in describing the pain, profound heartbreak and will it requires to keep going after one we love deeply has died.

For me, that “next right thing,” the ability to keep going in the midst of loss, are many of our hardest moments – unthinkable really. Also for me, is the reality that God is the only way anyone is able to take another step. He is the voice inside that somehow compels us to get up, take another step, take another breath and continue one after another. That is not to force God’s provision on any, rather, it is simply my truth.

Whether you are rolling eyes about my “deep Disney connections,” have thought some of these yourself, find yourself facing grief or are just trying to summon the courage to take another breath, let me remind you of just a couple things:

  1. Love will in some way, at least on this side of heaven, involve loss. I have heard the quote, “grief is the cost of great love.” If we want to experience deep, connected love, then we are at risk of great heartbreak. Jesus also tells us though, “33 I have told you all this so that you may have peace in me. Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world.” John 16:33 God promises that this pain will not have the last word for those who love and seek him. (Praise be to God!)
  2. God created us with the ability to persevere, because he is WITH US. (Not just in the good, but in the unthinkably hard.)
  3. Grief is a marathon, not a sprint. Mourning is grief that is actively moving in some direction. Remember who you are, whose you are, while in the messy, crazy-making process. God knows the days, the moments, the breaths that are so hard to take…
  4. “When you pass through the waters,
        I will be with you;
    and when you pass through the rivers,
        they will not sweep over you.
    When you walk through the fire,
        you will not be burned;
        the flames will not set you ablaze.” Isaiah 43:2
  5. Lean on friends, family, your roots and if you are willing and able, the God of the Universe who loves you deeply. Allow others to carry you, whether that is a grief therapist, a friend who opens the door and wipes your tears after you’ve held things together for awhile. A pastor, or support group. You were never meant to endure alone…
  6. Stay in today, or even in this one hour. One step, then another. Take a bite of something, even if you are not hungry. A sip of tea, one phone call or a shower. One thing at a time. You see, one thing can add up to another and another and another. In time, Spring will come again, you may breathe just a bit easier and you will be able to carry your loved one with you into whatever comes next.

I am praying for you as you grieve a loss of many kinds. You are not alone.

Both/And

xoxo

Sometimes, it is good to howl….

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(Oh my heart…be brave my soul.)

“I can feel something welling up, deep in the pit of my stomach, a clenching I don’t have a name for. I have spent too many days, NOT caring for myself, AGAIN. Between family needs, schedules and even the joy, I have yet again, put my own needs on the back burner. As the days blur together, I can feel something building up inside me, something between anger, exhaustion and sheer overwhelming emptiness….”

“I don’t know the point in saying, “I am angry. Of course I am angry! It is endless. But it won’t change…I need to just get over it. Except, I can’t stop thinking about it, even when I say to myself, I am over it. I don’t understand it….”

“I will never be able to stop crying if I let myself start, it is too big, too painful. I will never stop. I just need to keep busy, keep going and keep working.”

“It was such a long time ago, it doesn’t matter anymore, right? I thought that if I just ignored the pain of what happened to me, I would forget. But I haven’t, I can’t. still, this many years later, when I close my eyes I can see and feel it all just like it is happening right now. I don’t know what to do anymore…..”

These sentiments are just a tiny glimpse into the daily life of brave clients…if these walls could speak, there is so much more.

Oh my heart….be brave my soul.

In this career I hold dear…(and maybe not just my career, but this very life), God has let me witness both so much tragedy and so much profound beauty. I don’t think I can truly describe it adequately.

Professionally, It came first in the form of children at my first internship when I supervised visitation between kids who had been removed from their parents care for a multitude of reasons. Even when the reasons for removal seemed the most legitimate, the kids AND the parents were doing their brave best in the most heart-wrenching situations.

Sometimes, all we can do is howl….

When I got my first job out of my undergrad, I began working with teens in a grassroots relational ministry. I was young, idealistic and introduced to the joy and heartache of life in ministry, earning the right to be heard while supporting teens and families in about every possible scenario over the course of 7 years. Standing with teens at a visitation of one of their beloved friends as they tearfully asked me, “what does she look like in that casket?” The gleaming dark wood casket was closed and raised up on the the opposite end of the funeral home. The kids moved slowly together, a dazed look, shock and pain raw, unable to wrap their minds around the sudden, tragic loss they were instantly thrust into.

Sometimes, you can’t do anything but howl…

I began my MSW program and came to understand the concept of family systems differently than ever before. I lost a dear friend one week after my program began and over the next year, learned what grief truly was. It was one of the hardest, growth years of my life. The the next year, after a lot of soul searching, prayer and the uncomfortable feeling of the right thing not always being the easiest thing, I began an internship at Hospice. I was changed in every single way, the holiness and tenderness of this calling – from my supervisor who taught me about peace and hope through her life, how to care for clients through her expertise and authenticity and boundaries through her intentional approach to nearly everything.

An unforgettable client taught us all about living while she was dying, gave us unique and needed perspective as we were stunned, huddling around TVs on my first day there, 9/11/2001. She sat on her small deck that morning, overlooking a pond, waiting for the temperature to rise enough to release the butterflies she had watched over from being caterpillars to beautiful, painted ladies. I will never forget her calm demeanor talking about war, global events and life experiences she’d lived through. She was sad, but not stunned as we watched the Twin Towers fall. She described “other, difficult things, saying, this too, shall pass.” Somehow, I believed her, even on this day.

Oh, my heart…be brave my soul.

I began my second internship at a counseling center, learning about resistance, court-mandated clients and how to let clients own their own problems and outcomes. My heart broke, while sitting face to face with a parent whose child had been removed after the child was hospitalized with a broken arm. The parent was “sure I haven’t done anything wrong.” I was distraught, faced with providing positive, unconditional regard and feeling this childs pain. I was also pregnant with my first child.

I sat across from many during those 6 years, learning as much in the pain as I did in the growth and change. I became a clinician, who has still, so much to learn. I learned to trust myself more, that many things will not be fixed or even made better. Sometimes, all I could do was witness a client’s painful truth and the difficulty it requires to exact lasting change. A boy who’d been in countless foster homes had such a difficult time coming, being vulnerable. Week after week, I asked my supervisor “how to help him.” She reminded me that often counseling takes a long time, which could mean years and most likely, I would not be the one to see it. She gave me the analogy of how one therapist might plant seeds, another watering the same seeds and another, seeing a flower bloom. At the time, I really wanted to be that person to reach my client (I wasn’t), but I have held that analogy close for many years.

I vacillated while becoming a mom of 3, between Hospice work and agency counseling. I met a widowed parent raising multiple teens who had “hoped it would all go away after the funeral.” Two years later, it still hadn’t and we needed to go back before going forward. We went through.

Another parent, in a moment, had to navigate shock, selflessness and courage while shifting very quickly into complex, traumatic grief and loss.

Sometimes, all we can do is howl….

In my life, outside of my career, I experience inspiration through everyone I meet…A young boy named Bill whose smile lit up a room; how he bravely fought a brutal, debilitating disease and his family showed me the meaning of grace in their care for him. Em, allowed me into some of her most vulnerable days and thoughts, taught me that CP was NOT all there was to me and the meaning of “rising above.” Les, who has for over 25 years inspired me by being the very definition of tenacity, fearlessness, loyalty and love. She and her spirited friend, Monica taught me sacrifice and the horror of gun violence in front of my eyes – so much worse than it seems in the movies. Mason and his beloved family, lesson after lesson in beauty, sacrifice and the love of Jesus. J and J, P and T who live out the redemption of dreams deferred and God’s sovereignty unfolding. My dear friend Shelly who teaches me more about the sacrifice of motherhood than I can comprehend. This list is not even the beginning…and there are so many, too many to list.

oh my heart…

In all the journeys, the pain, the beautiful and the in-between, I’ve learned this: the only way through, is through.

We used to read Going on a Bear Hunt to our kids, at least 55 times a day when they were little, until all 5 of us had it memorized.

“You can’t go over it…you can’t go under it, you have to go THROUGH it!” We would yell that refrain! It became a metaphor for both hard things in our family and in my clinical work. I even bought a small board book of Helen Oxenbury’s version and set it on the table for clients. It never failed to evoke an moment of understanding or even tears sometimes as the message became real.

Be brave my soul….

Psalm 13 (my very favorite and an amazing biblical both/and) says:

1 How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever?
    How long will you hide your face from me?
2 How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
    and day after day have sorrow in my heart?
    How long will my enemy triumph over me?

3 Look on me and answer, Lord my God.
    Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death,
4 and my enemy will say, “I have overcome him,”
    and my foes will rejoice when I fall.

5 But I trust in your unfailing love;
    my heart rejoices in your salvation.
6 I will sing the Lord’s praise,
    for he has been good to me.

Both the heartache and the praise, fear and trust. Yes, Lord God, be in, both, with and for us. Loss and hope, agony and trying to find something akin to joy. This is real and true, the purpose in the calling, at least for me. As I teach it in my work, learn it for myself and pray for the grace and mercy we all need, I also know this: holding the both/and is the truest path to peace I have ever come to. Because I know God understands AND loves me in both.

May we take care of ourselves: take a walk, call mom (or dad,) attend a class and learn new skills. Seek counseling. Breathe deep, smell the flowers, blow out the candles. Pray or meditate. Walk slowly, speak only kind words to ourselves. Lean into our people, the ones who know and love the authentic versions of us. And may we allow ourselves to go through.

“Crying releases stress hormones, swearing increases pain tolerance. Anger motivates us to solve problems. Silence and smiles aren’t the only way to respond to pain. Sometimes its good to howl.” Anonymous

I often close sessions with “be kind to yourself” and full disclosure, how my own therapist closes with me. Sometimes, I add this – howl if you need to, cry, and rest. Most often, those are the very paths that lead to the best parts of healing.

Both/And

Psalm 13