I’ve been living into some larger parts,
spreading wings in gimpy places
and letting raw things speak until old shame bleeds through.
It’s a shiver to stand in the open like that,
leaning brave into the hope that gentle ears will hear it true
and hold it tender while the knife slices clean.
Healing often happens in such ways.
But sometimes healing comes when winds are bitter,
when words splinter like rocks knocked over ledges,
and the pain shatters trust like a crush fracture
and you betray the one you’ve learned to blame
because it’s habit to believe that you deserve standing stoic in the cold.
When your heart goes tender for the one you’ve asked
to hide away the pain,
and compassion begins to blossom for the one
you stood in the corner in shame
(that’d be you, m’dear),
healing happens even in harsh places.
It’s a healing thing to a world of hurt when you begin to show yourself a little love.
Compassion isn’t just for others.
There is enough to cover us all.
Light and love and liniment
to your own listing places,
especially to those parts of yourself
you’re just beginning to learn
“But you can’t get to any of these truths by sitting in a field smiling beatifically,
avoiding your anger and damage and grief.
Your anger and damage and grief are the way to the truth.
We don’t have much truth to express unless we have gone into those rooms
and closets and woods and abysses that we were told not to go in.
When we have gone in and looked around for a long while,
just breathing and finally taking it in –
then we will be able to speak in our own voice
and to stay in the present moment.
And that moment is home.”
– Anne Lamott