Feel It to Heal It

Whether it was the message welcoming me at 6:15 a.m. on Sunday that I was the only parent in the house again, or the idea of sitting in church in the same row as Michael, or the struggle of putting two overly heavy carseats back in my Volvo again before church with a three year old who wanted to tromp through the snow even in his church clothes and an eighteen-month-old who wants to be reattached to her mama regardless of the weather, or the impending holidays of the week ahead, or all of these things, or just the right time, the Sunday before Christmas set off four days of wildfire of anger. The kind of anger that is pretty much all consuming, energy sapping, difficult to control and hard to predict – a wildfire. My patience was about two seconds long, and too many times I had to apologize to my kids for losing it, too many times put myself in time out and too many times almost decapitated a cat or two. Interestingly, I can’t remember specifics from this anger craze, except that I bought two new carseats as soon as humanly possible. Lots and lots of red hot anger.

This, I have been reassured, is good for me – this feeling of anger, letting it out. “You have to feel it to heal it,” reassured Megan. My therapist, Rhonda, praised me for feeling the anger. But in the midst of the flames, fleeing cats and stampeding children, it felt quite overwhelming, and I felt out of control. How can I ever end this anger? I wanted to know. The normal mantras of “It won’t always be like this” and “Breath, breath,” attempts at getting sleep, taking breaks from reality in books and movies, and writing tell all letters that I would never send, small pulls on my boot strings, were pretty useless. A small tear in my normal composure had opened into a wild windstorm. And it was exhausting and felt – at the time – quite useless. Feel it my butt, said the anger.

Wednesday night – it had really only been four days, I think, looking back – the kids were in bed, and I stepped into the shower. I was trying to avoid the normal morning screaming accompanying a morning shower after the kids get up (the three year old who wants to tromp the pirates around the pirate ship with me and the baby who wants to reattach to mama regardless of the need for a shower), but I found more than a scream saver. I’m at the end of myself with this, I told God, water sounding lovely on my head. I’m at the end. I can’t carry the anger and the heavy question pinching me, what does healing look like and how will I ever get there? It’s yours. Water from tears and the shower gently put the fire out.

Rhonda said something about the postivie effects of negative ions being washed away by water and reminded me of Anne Lamott’s wisdom that the bathroom is the best place to pray. There is indeed something sacred about water. And something so relieving about God taking things from me.

Thursday, my poltergeist-spinning head and fire-spitting mouth reset to normal. I relaxed inside, water having gently put the fire out. I looked around and found while I had been crazy inside (normal crazy, I’ve been reassured), my kids and cats survived. And so did I . . . perhaps more healed, at least better watered.

Postscript: Thinking about healing on Tuesday night again and that the healing may not be fully realized until years down the road. The deep healing is like physical therapy after major surgery - it helps some in the short term, but long term can be the difference between full use of a limb and limited use. I think about the anger that I dealt with my dad, how it took so many years to heal from the wounds of a distant and alcoholic father, and how I finally let myself feel anger until my senior year of college. My senior prediction from high school was that I would get angry - I was never angry. But as a result of never being angry, of never experiencing appropriate emotions, I was distant from myself, friends and family - distance was necessary so I could maintain not feeling. So it is that by feeling now, down the road I will be in better shape, in all my limbs.

How I love water – let me count the ways (from Quotes of the Day, www.qotd.org):
“The cure for anything is salt water; sweat, tears, or the sea.” Isak Dinesen
“The highest goodness is like water. Water benefits all things and does not compete. It stays in the lowly places which others despise. Therefore it is near The Eternal.” Lao-Tzu
“In rivers, the water that you touch is the last of what has passed and the first of that which comes; so with present time.” Leonardo da Vinci
“If there is Magic on this planet, it is contained in water.” Loren Eiseley