You will miss your transformation
I have made it to day three. Three days since the surgery. It went well. Better than they hoped. Three days later, the relief of that knowledge has worn off and all I feel is pain, guilt and vulnerability. It’s really hit hard this morning. I haven’t been able to speak properly for days. Depending on painkillers, some moments are better than others, but it mostly all hurts. It feels tight. My mouth feels small. The jaw is stiff. Swollen. Bruised. This morning, I woke up in more pain than I have been in over the last few days. It was upsetting. Upsetting because it felt like I was going backwards. I felt like days of healing had been undone in one restless sleep. As I write this, I remember that healing isn’t linear. It sometimes feels like one step forward and three steps back. I am rushing my healing. I am rushing because I feel the pressure to return to “normal”. Business as usual. Why am I rushing it? I KNOW that’s not the solution, to apply that pressure on myself! I don’t think I am the only one who feels this self-inflicted pressure though. I wonder if you’re here with me now?
Being a parent while you’re healing is a beautiful challenge. The guilt I feel about not being the same mother I was a few days ago, saying bye to my two little boys the night before the surgery I was me. Then I’m gone for a day while in hospital. My youngest begins to struggle. He’s six, he knows where I am, he’s tearful and upset. All I can think about is getting home to him, for him. But I am not the same Mami he saw the other day. I’m swollen, bruised and can’t speak. He crawls up onto my chest and breaks down. His little body curled into mine. And then I feel it, guilt. I feel a wave of it, crashing, drowning me. I say I’m sorry. I have no idea why I am sorry, but I am. This couldn’t have been helped. The surgery was needed, and I have been waiting so long for it, too long for it. In that moment, I felt responsible for his pain. I wanted to take it away. Now I realise, his tears were love. Tears stained my clothes above my heart. Stained with love. He is all love. I can’t be sorry for that. I am proud of him for loving so fully.
Guilt has shaped the first few days home for me. I feel guilty that I am tired, that I’m in my pyjamas all day, that I haven’t done my hair. I feel guilty that I can’t verbally help with the boys, getting them ready for school, clubs or reading them their stories at bedtime. I feel guilty that I can barely speak to my husband. That the responsibilities that I choose in our home are now laid upon him. I feel guilty, that being partly self-employed means that I have very little income over this healing period. Meaning that my husband must take that extra burden too. I hope he knows I find this hard, and that I am so grateful to him. It’s hard to express right now, but if you’re reading this, I appreciate it all more than you know.
Relying on others is really bloody hard. I was taught independence. I was taught self-sufficiency. Born out of a need to meet my own needs from a young age. Not trusting other people enough to be there for me. So, no, it’s not a healthy independence. It’s an independence at a detriment to myself type of situation. It’s protection. To protect myself from the disappointment of people not being there when I need them. To protect myself from the rejection when people feel I have asked too much of them.
I am safe. I am safe. Breathe.
I learned patience once, for myself I mean. I learned it so I could heal a few years ago. I need to remember the lessons of that time…..I am breathing into that time. Into that memory. Bringing it back to life. What do I feel? What do I see? What do I hear? What did I learn?….
…I allowed myself to rest. Seeing it as medicine, like the pills I am taking to fight off infection. Necessary. Essential. I allow myself to rest again. Breathe. I learned that I have this one body, taking care of it should be a priority. A guilt free, unapologetic priority. Because when the body misbehaves, life gets hard. Remember my practices, meditate, journal, move my body (gently), love myself, show myself care and compassion, only listen to or watch things that uplift me, put my feet on the grass, connect to mother earth and let her hold me. Let myself be held. Let myself be held by those who want to hold me in this. Gratefully, and openly accept that love and care. Remember that I am loved.
This is temporary. This is only a chapter in my bigger story. As a wonderful wise friend says, “this too shall pass”. There is a beauty in the slowing down. The body asking your soul to surrender to the pain, to the transformation, to the growth. To surrender to this moment, your spirit called to give your body its full attention.
Don’t rush your healing, you’ll miss the lessons there. You’ll miss the wisdom. You’ll miss your transformation.
Can you remember a time when you were called to heal? Physically? Emotionally? Spiritually? Can you remember the lessons of that time? Remember that time and see if you can bring the lessons into this moment, so you may always remember the wisdom hidden there.