The post below was written four years ago during a fairly intense time in my life. I was facing a lot of truth about myself and the unhealthy patterns and coping mechanisms I’d been living out for years. I was trying to outrun the truth. I had been running… avoiding… compartmentalizing… dissociating… and throwing myself into the pains and problems of others, appointing myself their only saving grace.
Thankfully, I woke up. And I’m so glad I wrote this piece because sometimes, I feel so far beyond the woman I was that I forget how much strength she had. It is not easy to do this work. But then, I’m not sure that avoiding it is that great, either. It can certainly look better on social media, but the day-to-day lack of being at peace with oneself is exhausting.
I pray that we all muster the strength to be honest with ourselves because our lives will be better for it—the world will be better for it. There’s nothing special about me. I was lucky enough to have the resources to do this work, so I did it.
D xoxo
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Deep in the work of healing, I have good days and bad.
The bad days consist of a suppressive kind of fog that leaves me with the sense that I dangle on the edge of a cliff- naked and alone- struggling to pull myself up to safety. These days are painful, and it’s a physical pain—like a full-body ache that is heaviest in my chest.
The other day, I explained this sensation to a friend, and I assumed she would know exactly what I meant. She had, after all, spent years in intense therapy healing from PTSD. But she didn’t get it. And it wasn’t until later that I realized she had been fairly heavily medicated throughout that time in her life. It stands to reason that the meds dulled her pain and allowed her to go through therapy without such a big physical distraction.
This made me understand even more deeply why we avoid this work- why we remain asleep, telling ourselves it’s not that bad while layering our lives with distraction upon distraction. I get it. Because this shit suuuccckkksss.
But the good days are good. And sometimes, they come lined with truly helpful epiphanies.
A few weeks ago, I found myself missing someone so much that it hurt. I’d heard grief described as love with no place to go, and, at that moment, this made a lot of sense to me. And I wanted to do so many things with my love. I was used to offering care, comfort, shelter, an ear, and now… nothing. And then a voice said, “Danielle, you do not trust Love to do its job.“
Whoa.
And I realized… this is what co-dependency is. Because I have lately concluded that codependents are inherently kind people with incredible capacities for love, they were never shown their worth, nor were they loved as they deserved (as we all deserve). This huge missing piece evolved into an anxious, needy drive to prove one’s worth to get that love.
When you haven’t experienced true Love, you have no idea what it can do without your interference.
So I sat back and breathed. I let myself cry, but I also made a pact. I would trust that my love was enough and that I didn’t need to do anything unless I truly felt moved to. Ever since then, my head and heart have felt lighter. I am unburdened and free to feel how I feel.
I should say here and now: I am in regular therapy. I am also blessed to have friends who are trained counsellors, and I seek their advice often. Lastly, I have a spiritual practice that helps me reconnect to myself. I am not doing this alone.
Learning to let Love do its job has been one of the most grace-filled experiences of my life. And it goes on…
<3
