The tedious journey of self-healing

I used to work in a pub with Richard. I loved working with Richard: when he was on form he was the funniest, most wickedly sharp companion you could ever wish for. He was friendly and full of banter for the punters, and quick and witty with the staff. I could never understand why he didn’t have a girl-friend: he was good looking, cool, intelligent, and did I mention that he was funny? However when the lights were down and the performance was over, after a few drinks at the end of a shift Richard would turn into a maudlin moan. His last girl-friend had dumped him and he was torn apart by this, devastated by not understanding what had gone wrong, and tortured with thoughts of how he could win her back. In the early days I listened intently to his tragic story, flattered that he would share this personal drama with me, but it didn’t take long to learn that not only would he tell anyone at any opportunity, but it had also happened several years ago. The way he spoke about it was as raw as if she’d stepped out of his bed that morning in her crumpled negligee, packed her bags silently and left, as he’d wailed and wrung his hands helplessly.

It doesn’t take long for people to tire of our tragedies. Really, not long at all. Some tragedies are given more grace than others, but we are remarkably intolerant of people who, in our opinion, suffer a little too long. And so sharing the journey of “inner healing” can only be trusted to those who are either going through something similar, or deeply trusted friends. Certainly husbands of friends are best avoided, even if they do just happen to be in the room making a cup of tea. I winced internally when one such husband asked none too gently at what point I would stop blaming my mother. Whilst I don’t think it was meant to be nasty it was more the exasperation I heard in his voice that shocked me. I don’t remember telling him more than once before about my recovery, how quickly had he tired of it? Perhaps his wife had talked of it endlessly to him, but I somehow doubt that. That is however, an easy stance to take, as I did with Richard quite quickly though I probably kept it to myself: when you wonder WHY someone can’t just get over it. It’s so obvious to all and sundry that wallowing in your pain isn’t helping anyone (and is mightily irritating for those around you) so why can’t you just get on with it, suck it up etc. Such is the usual advice for depression also, along with “pull yourself together” and “you need to get out more”. As if by just wanting to get over something you can. As Allan Carr says of smoking, that smokers are in full knowledge of the health issues but that alone can’t stop them smoking, because, as he says very aptly, “you don’t smoke tobacco for the reasons you shouldn’t”. You don’t suffer because you want to be unhappy (well, in some cases you do but we’ll bookmark that for another day’s rambling). And of course we’ve all been there or known someone else who’s been somewhere darker and survived it, and if I or they got over it, why can’t you…?

I don’t share much of my pain with Gary as he is even less understanding than my friend’s husband. It’s not that he doesn’t care, he just doesn’t really get it. He looked at me once as I struggled to articulate how helpless I felt that even after a few years of self-examination and spiritual work, and despite vast improvements in my joy of life, I still felt there was something huge inside me, unwilling to yield to my effort to fix myself. (And to all the fellow journeyers out there, I’m aware that that sentence in itself describes the problem). “Maybe this is as good as it gets?” he said helpfully, a fully paid up member of the life is shit brigade. And at that moment I was more sure than ever that there IS more ground to be gained. That I honestly, deeply and viscerally know that I have the capacity for more joy, more ease and more love, and more abundance and that I will NEVER give up on the potential to be quietly, blissfully, happy. Although it doesn’t always feel like it, I have come a long, long way. It matters to me how I feel. It matters to me that every day I learn something new about what I have repressed in myself, about who I really am, and that I am worthy of love, abundance and joy. And most significantly, that my value is not what financial and practical offerings I bring to the party. I know now, without reservation, that the Universe and everything in it, is geared up to help me succeed, if only I can just get over myself and let it all in. And hence the desire to heal myself, so I can let it all in. There really is a payoff and it really will be mine.

I’d like to think my healing story is a bit different from Richard’s in that I’m not intentionally complaining or trying to get sympathy, but then I doubt that’s what he thought he was doing either. I’d like to think that I’m trying to share my discoveries to help me get some clarity. I’m also trying to help myself rather than just moaning: this is after all, what it’s all about. And what’s really worth remembering is that in my healing I am benefiting the whole world. Everyone around me, and everyone else too. As each soul shines their light the world gets a little brighter. The healing of every single hurt benefits society as a whole. That’s what this life is all about, finding our own joy and in doing so, bringing joy to others too, effortlessly, unintentionally, simply by being happier. Isn’t that marvellous? So next time you lose patience with a wounded friend, just remember they are healing for you too.