a letter to the hurting

“…the wound is the only route to the gift.”

To whom it may concern,

This is about you- it’s not about me. That being said, I want to share a bit of my story so you know you’re not alone, and that I understand how hard it is.

A while ago I wrote a blog that I never published (surprising…I have over a hundred of those), it was about pain. It was going to be great, but I never got around to sharing it. Sometimes I would rather not share them, if I’m honest.

Let me continue on the story though: pain. The story begins with me in physical pain, specifically in my thoracic spine. I was being treated for this pain by a great physical therapist- one of the best around I might add. During the treatment session, he ended up putting his elbow in the area where I was hurting. (He was doing a technique to break up the fascia, if you’re curious about science.) And if you’ve ever had this happen, you know how intense this can become. I held my breath & tightened my whole body. It was already bad enough when the pain would come and go throughout the day, a constant dull aching or severe burning...why would I willingly put myself in that situation?

I’ll get back to the story in a few, but I want to tell you- I know this season is hard. I used to get frustrated when people would say the holidays are harder, I thought: “everyday is hard, you just don’t understand.” To an extent it was true. After losing someone you love, a huge part of your life, everyday is hard. But now I understand more than I wanted to, that the holidays can be harder. They bring back all the memories. Maybe on a random Monday in June you can go without many flashbacks, but when you set up your tree and they aren’t there to put up their favorite ornament, or you drive to Christmas Eve with 3 people and not 4 in your car, or maybe your family doesn’t speak anymore and maybe you rang in the new year all alone, it all comes back- and it’s lonely.

Remembering the physical therapy appointment: as I didn’t want to feel this pain, as I held my breath and tightened my whole body, the therapist told me I needed to let myself feel the pain. He said that though it may hurt, it’s therapeutic pain. This means that my brain may interpret this as pain and that my feelings may be accurate, but I am in no danger- it’s the opposite. This therapeutic pain will not damage me, it will actually help heal me. Immediately, my mind no longer focused on my body, but I shifted focus to how I have been in this same situation for years, only with my mind.

As we go through this new year, as the holidays have just finished and we are back to the busyness of life, I want to remind you of something. When we get hurt, it’s easier to push aside the pain, ignore it, or bury it to get through the day. But the truth is, when we are wounded by someone we love, when we are hit with tragedy and flooded with grief, when we are lonely and broken, even if it originated years ago, that pain we are feeling in the moment may need to be felt, so it can become therapeutic. The pain you are burying must be acknowledged, rather than avoided. As Andrew Garfield (the best Spider-Man actor) opens up about losing his mother, he states, “I hope this grief stays with me because it's all the unexpressed love that I didn't get to tell her…the wound is the only route to the gift.”

So, I don’t know exactly what you’re going through, but I know that those holidays were hard. It’s hard for me too. But I want to encourage you, instead of burying the pain, or refusing to let the grief in, let yourself feel. You’re going to be alright- the pain is not going to overtake you. Have a close friend sit with you while you cry. Cry remembering the traditions without the people who started them. Write your pain. It’s going to get better, I promise. I’m here for you. You’re not alone. And lastly, remember, what is grief, if not love persevering?

Sincerely,

Ev