Tears of Healing 10/25/15

More about him in a moment. 

        I cried.

        Fear and anxi-ety crowded my mind. Twelve peo-ple lined up, facing me yesterday, Saturday, October 24th. One at a time, they shared the good they saw.

       In. Me. 

       My heart pounded crazily during this exercise. As the waves of their compassionate words washed over me, I felt long-sought tears emerging.

       By the penultimate person's affirmations, I could not hold back these droplets of healing.

      Then, a surprise after the completed exercise. The instructor said, "Wait!"  She scooted towards me, standing in front of me.  

      She did not do this with the other six students who had gone before.

      With a gentle smile, she said, "The good I see in you: you are an innocent and sensitive man."  She embraced me. I hugged her back.

     That did it. Tears poured as I made my way to my seat. A fellow student beside me gently rubbed my back, letting me know her compassion for me. Being the only crybaby during that exercise embarrassed me.

        What's wrong with me? You'll find out. Read on.

       Crying more has become more of a part of me. That's good. The life-long gradual unfolding of my vulnerability provides greater depth to my life. 

       Besides crying more tears, laughter has become more of a part of my nature. My joy increases as I become more authentic.  

       My outsides with each day become more congruent with my insides.  

        As a child, I hid my vulnerabilities for years.   It wasn't safe, being vulnerable. I turned my soul into a walnut.

       That way, I could not get hurt. Teased as a boy for having thicker hair and being darker and left-handed by my siblings strongly motivated me to shut down emotionally. Shame and physical harm I endured from my dad.

       In elementary school, fellow students laughed at me, starting with the fifth grade. Teachers were im-patient when I went to the front of the class to recite an assigned poem. "Pablo, please sit down," they said with disgust when I struggled to express myself, walking to my seat in shame.  

       "I'm not like the other students; I'm not good enough,"   I'd think. 

       These struggles are the result of being changed from left-handed to right when ten years old. The Wernicke area of my brain became damaged, creating a form of aphasia. 

       I thought mental deficiency defined me because of the way I spoke. I could not say words correctly.

       Embarrassment filled my soul as a young boy because of my shame about my brain damage. Every night, in my bunk bed, I prayed. My tongue got twisted up. 

       This thought is a false conclu-sion coming from a confused young boy. I know that now, not then. I asked God to help me not be stupid. 

      Affirming people every day defines what I do for work. Natural, gentle, insightful, and practical encouragement, marks my profession. Sat-urday. During this exercise, while getting training, I saw this would happen to me.

      They did it to the other six students first. Fear filled my spirit. I knew I would have my turn.  

      They were going to affirm me. Does my anxious reaction surprise you, my readers, and fellow guests of this inn?

       

      Saturday, vestiges of my wounded heart took over my emotions. During this exercise, it happened. My usual, reasonable self could not believe their positive comments.

       Why would others line up to say good things about me? A violent war occurred within as I faced the line of people. Terror filled me every pore. 

         My heart disre-garded the love received at that moment. My emotions overrode logic. Fear rode over my education. And here, they were saying positive things about me. Me.

       Decades of past pain overtook three decades of personal work on my weaknesses. Fear overcame professional training. My recovery work failed me during this crisis moment yesterday, in Sacramento.

      The principles of Al-Anon Family Groups did not rescue me. The little Pablo surfaced. The fearful, damaged me appeared.

       I did not know what to do. A violent, fear-inducing four-hundred-pound gorilla had his grip on me. His name, Abuse.

        He who pounded the joy and hope out of me, as a little boy. He did this on a daily basis. This gorilla robbed me of innocence, as a youth.
   

     "You are unde-serving," screamed this gorilla after each person in the line praised me. "These words don't describe the true you!" This vicious primate yelled when a person gently said what they liked about me. I drew close to insani-ty, last night,  during this exercise.

     I stood there calmly as reality and abuse played tug-of-war with my heart. My heart could not comprehend what transpired. Cold sweat formed on the back of my head as I listened to each person.

     Anxiety produced from past terrors filled me with dread. I knew Halloween would come soon, but I did not know its goblins would haunt me a week early.

     What balm provided healing from this gorilla of abuse? Affirming words from others. And my tears.

      I felt the ghost of long-suppressed fearful feelings. I faced them. I recognized their terrible power.

      How they throttle me, emotionally. Even when encouraged! This happens when I don't confront these fears and pain with the truth about the amazing person I have become.
   

       Negative feelings over-whelm me when not mindful of who I truly am. This takes place when I overlook the amazing qualities that make up my life.

       Unfettered from my pain-ful past took place because of the love received yesterday afternoon. The hugs from those with me combatted past terrors. Their affirming words healed old wounds.

      Each tear shed washed away a moment of terrible pain. This heal-ing does not take place by living alone. Nor does it happen when we live within our heads, allowing false beliefs to assault us. Chains of past pain were shattered that Saturday by love received from a com-munity, the people surrounding that day.

      I became restored--made whole--that weekend by the soothing presence of compassion. It does not happen by isolating, playing with electric devices. Healing requires a human touch, being soothed by the compassion received from others.

      It emerges when we bond with healthy, supportive others. It is born from community. Immersing ourselves with others who have hearts of love towards us provides the way that frees us from past pain and fear.

      I know. I experienced that love yesterday, a week before Hallo-ween.