June 30th, 2023

Someone, I don’t even remember who, told me a few weeks ago that my posts were sounding more positive. I felt a little bit positive, I guess. I thought, okay, maybe I’m getting a handle on this healing thing. I’m doing it.

And I was doing it…theoretically. I was doing it when I felt more positive and I’m still doing it as I feel like I’ve fallen off of a cliff into a pit the size of Texas and as deep as Everest is tall. “Hellloooo (echo, echo, echo)…I’m down here healing.” That’s what they call it. Turns out that healing isn’t all forward motion…who knew?

My counselor told me today not to worry because I’ll “come out stronger on the other side of this.”

People who want to be stronger go to a gym, of their own volition, I might add. I’ve actually been through a LOT of things in my life that people think you’re “stronger” on the other side of. I hated all of them.

We seem to equate the physical pain earned by training for something to that of emotional pain. But what I’m doing has no Olympics, no triathlon medal, no guts and glory. There is no adrenaline rush that kicks in and gives you a rush of endorphins. My friend Tania is a runner and she lost her sweet Daddy last year; I’m willing to bet she would tell you that the two types of pain are nothing alike. There is no comparison.

My traumas have definitely shaped me into who I am but those results haven’t all been good, not “strong.” Wiser? Maybe. Jaded? Probably. Wary? Definitely. Fearful? Sometimes.

But what they also have done is create an empath in me. Every single trauma from my life that pops in my head as I write this is now something that makes me feel deeply for anyone else who suffers the same.

Trauma turned me to nursing. Trauma turned me to walk with broken people. Trauma turned me to ministry opportunities. (If you think ministry only means standing at a microphone in front of a church full of people, you’re wrong; ministry starts in the streets, in your workplace, in your parenting, in your friendships, in your level of kindness to strangers, even those who don’t necessarily share your views on life in general.) Trauma turned me to share my stories so people who feel alone don’t make choices they cannot take back. And even saying that makes me wish, so hard, that I could have been able to help the ones who have made those choices.

The truth is that sometimes what happens in life is not a choice. The truth is that sometimes you don’t get stronger. The truth is that trauma and grief make you weaker, a lot weaker, for a long time before you just get back up to the level of how “strong” you were before. Eventually.

If my past traumas had made me stronger, I wouldn’t be in this pit right now. They would have given me the ability, to just pop right up outside of the valley, right? What they have given me is a knowledge that, even if I don’t feel Him every day right now, God will carry me out the other side. They’ve given me endurance that comes with the knowledge that I’m not in the pit alone even when it’s dark and oh-so-quiet down here.

So, I don’t believe that stronger is what I will be after this. But what I do believe is that maybe I will be able to let someone else see that they won’t live at the bottom of this dark hole forever. One day I will rise from the ashes of this hurt and despair; I’ll find a way to grow around the grief. I will learn to live with it still inside of me but will allow petals to open from inside the dark place they now hide. Somehow. (That is a combination of what we call hope and faith.)

And one day, when someone asks me how you live through this, then maybe I’ll be able to put into words how it works. Or maybe I’ll know just to sit beside them or hold their hand or cry with them so they’ll know someone is there. Or I will know to just let them have some time where I leave them be until they’re ready.

I don’t know how I’ll be able to help someone else later on. I just know that, even though God did not create or cause my pain, He will find a way to help me use it for someone else. In that, I am confident. Today I don’t want to ever have to walk this path with someone else because it feels impossible to do myself, but without a doubt someone will have to navigate it and I know that their pain will resonate with mine; their pain will call mine back out but I’ll be there to answer that call.

I may not ever be stronger. But I will still want to help people heal and maybe I’m drawing my own map right now.