Lion Love

Okay, this is something completely different than I usually post, but I can’t get this video out of my mind.

I’ve spent some time wondering why I am so “taken” with this video. Maybe it is because it reminds me of the missing bond I had with my father. Or, maybe it is because I’m fascinated that love expressed authentically can transcend species, whereas so many families are estranged.

Or, maybe it is because the video stands alone as profoundly heartwarming. Whatever the reason, check it out:

And if you enjoyed the video you can read the back story here:

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-452820/Christian-lion-lived-London-liv\
ing-room.html

"Get over it" vs. "Go through it"

When it comes to the pain of abuse and estrangement, we are often encouraged to just “Get over it.” Survivors often share with me how painful it is to reach out for help only to hear, “Get over it.” It occurred to me that when we place the phrase “Get over it” along side “Go through it,” “Get over it,” seems rather silly.

A few nights ago I had a strange dream. I saw two people tackling mountains in completely different ways. Of course, the physical mountains were symbolic of mountains of pain. One person was trying to “get over” the mountain on a bike. She was all alone, and working very hard. When she did finally reach the other side, she noticed that no matter how hard she tried to move on, she was always aware of the mountain. She did “get over it,” but it was still there in its original form. In the ensuing months and years, no matter how much she relished in conquering that mountain, she kept the secret that she was drawn back to take the difficult and lonely ride “over” the peak once more.

The other person decided to “blast” through the mountain. She too worked very hard. In fact harder than the person who biked over the mountain. However, she was not alone. She had a whole crew of supportive people on her team. Although the blasting was much harder and took years longer, she felt satisfied, because as she chipped away at that mountain, it began to disappear. Each part of the mountain became a “memory” rather than a present reality. Sometimes the work was so hard that she wished she would have just gone over it, but as she came closer and closer to the “other side,” she realized that the only way through the mountain – is through it!

Compassion

Yesterday, a survivor friend shared with me how she continues to allow her mother to mistreat her. She said that her downfall was her compassion. She keeps getting drawn back into the crazy-making because she has compassion for her mother.

Boundary issues are common in abusive family systems. Abuse victims and survivors are often programmed to empathize with those who harm us. Other individuals also insist that we should have compassion for an offender in an effort to resolve conflict.

There was a time in my young life when I too had a great deal of compassion for my mother. Whenever I acted on my compassion, I seemed to be giving her permission to hurt me again.

I failed to realize that having compassion for another person is not a license to allow mistreatment. Compassion should go hand in hand with clear, respectful boundaries. Feeling compassion didn’t mean that I had to act on compassion and put myself in harms way.

As a young adult, when I risked sharing the trauma of my childhood, my chosen confidant often ignored my words by simply insisting that I should have compassion for my mother. This response made me very angry because my previous attempts at acting on my compassion failed to heal our relationship and only served to allow myself to be hurt again.

I didn’t experience the compassion of a loving mother growing up, nor did I learn self-compassion. I needed to experience some compassion. Placing conditions on the victim and not on the offender seemed very damaging.

Just as with premature forgiveness – compassion can be premature. The sort of
assistance I needed from others was to just "hold" my experience, listen to me, validate me, and have compassion for me without placing any conditions on me.

Until I was able to focus solely on my own healing, on becoming self-compassionate, and on learning to protect myself, compassion for my mother had to wait.

Fourth of July

Independence day! A day we celebrate our freedom, with family picnics, fireworks, games, food, BBQ’s, and parades. A day off of work! And a day for many that is packed with all kinds of fun…

…However, for some, the 4th of July is another solitary day of mourning.

The pain of family estrangement is often heightened during any holiday.

When faced with my first holiday alone – disconnected from my lifelong family traditions – my therapist stated matter-of-factly, "You will create new holiday traditions."

Easier said than done. Throughout the first years of my family estrangement, I suffered through birthdays, holidays, and other significant events nursing my wounds while I tried to cope with my feelings of exclusion and rejection.

However, my therapist was right. In time, I did create new holiday traditions that were far more fun and loving than the old.

If you are recently estranged, take heart that the pain of estrangement and that of dealing with the holidays does lessen with time. Mourning is a necessary part of the process. When we are done mourning the old, we make room for the new.

Happy Fourth of July!

Spiritual Healing

For you created my inmost being;
You knit me together in my mother's womb.

Psalm 139:13

I have had to performed a great deal of difficult emotional work in order to heal from my abuse. Indeed, the psychological aspects of recovery are paramount.

Therapy ultimately brightened the recess of my mind, while my spiritual commitment brightened my heart and soul. My faith has carried me through some of the darkest moments of my life.

The first time I read Psalm 139:13, I felt like an innocent child, discovering something simple, yet wonderful, for the very first time – like my hands or like my feet. Before anyone was aware of my existence, God chose me as His child and knit me together in my mother’s womb.

This comforting verse brought healing tears to my eyes and restoration to my injured soul. Right from the beginning, I was loved; I was not alone.

Reconciliation – Recovery time

Each time I had contact with one of my family members, I needed recovery time to absorb a wide range of conflicting emotions: sadness, joy, uncertainty, hope, sorrow, and issues of trust. Contrary to the old ways, of “powering” through each event, I remained present with my feelings, staying true to myself and let my well-being guide me.

At first my movements were slow and tentative. I kept my visits brief and didn’t discuss difficult issues that came up with my family until I had time to work through intense emotions alone or with supportive friends.

I took baby steps while I began to build trust – both in myself and with my family members.

If a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to hear, does it make a sound?

Listening. It seems so simple, but it is so hard to do. Listening is the ultimate gift that can be given to a wounded soul. As a child I longed to be seen and heard.

When I spoke about the woundedness of my heart, body, and emotions; nobody seemed to hear what I said. I was an invisible youngster. I grew up alone and in emotional poverty, without being seen by anyone. I didn’t have a voice; therefore, it seemed I had no value.

I learned as an adult that when our childhood pain is ignored, our trauma remains fused to us until someone frees us from our bondage by simply listening to our heartache. In other words, a listener tends to the wounds that have festered, unhealed for years.

When I finally found someone to just listen, without judging, blaming, arguing, or advising, the relief I felt was indescribable. At long last, I had the opportunity to “grow from there.”

Once I felt validated, I became unstuck from the point in time that my trauma became fused to me. After feeling heard, my sole focus shifted from that of being heard to that of healing from the offense.

If a child speaks of their abuse and nobody is there to hear, do they make a sound?

We often hear stories about courageous people who “break the silence.” I’m grateful to those who have the courage to “hear.”