Let the Healing Happen
Elizabeth Moore
The mind is a scary place that doesn't make sense. It's capable of beautiful and destructive things. It's capable of believing truth and lies--life and death.
It was a year ago when I first felt a helplessness of the mind. A year ago when the deepest gash of my life started the deepest healing I've ever experienced.
And I'm healed.
They tell me that the body remembers, and I think mine has been having too much fun with deja vu. It's remembering where I was one year ago--after Rush, leadership, and responsibilities. It's remembering the cold weather, the mid-November stress, the overcast days, the wind slicing through the buttons of my flannel. Last year, cold weather felt scary and lonely and helpless. And my body is remembering.
My body remembers, but I am healed.
My body remembers, but I've learned to control my mind.
I've learned my mind is not unknown, but deeply known and protected. I've learned to put my mind in the light. I've learned to tell my anxious thoughts to calm down and let me handle it. I've learned to tell my fears that I'm fine, and thanks for the concern, but I'm not afraid.
I've learned to think about that sweet morning on the dock, with the sun just hot enough to make my t-shirt and yoga pants cozy. I've learned to close my eyes and smell lake water and feel the gentle breeze against my hair. I've learned to imagine how I felt when I tucked my knees under my chin in that rocking chair and rocked back and forth in peace.
I've learned it's okay to cry a lot. It's okay to cry in front of your parents and let them see that you have issues. It's okay to eat cookie dough with your brother who loves you. It's okay to hate the pain that comes with healing, as long as you endure it.
Sometimes painful things happen and we never want them to happen again, but I'll be honest--they might. The world is not perfect and sometimes wounds re-open. I wish painful things never happened, but here's the deal--they do and I'm thankful.
I'm thankful because it results in the deepest healing. The very deepest. Like a scar in a tree that's been struck by lightening. The deepest and smoothest wound you've ever seen, yet so beautiful. The mark of a powerful force.
What a story to be told. A story of pain but of deep, deep healing.
So ask me mine. Tell others yours. And let's let healing happen.
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