Month: October 2017

The Problem of Pain

My shoulder hurts. It has been hurting for over a year and, after trying to ignore it and my limited mobility, I finally decided to go to a physical therapist to address the problem. It started back when Hazel was still sleeping in our bed and still nursing through the night- I would intentionally put myself in a position to give her access to me all night. And as a result, I strained my shoulder beyond its own ability to repair the damage.

I’m currently working on all the things that are painful; in my soul, in my mind, and in my body. At the risk of sounding a little melodramatic, the problem of pain is part of every day life, right now.

Here’s what I know about pain:

Something needs to change. If I were to continue to sleep in the position that originally caused this injury to my shoulder, none of these exercises and stretches and little electric shocks would have any affect. I would be wasting my time and the time of the therapist if I continued the behavior that started the pain (I wish I had been cleaning when it happened).
Let me clarify something: in contrast to what caused my shoulder pain, the molestation I experienced that was the root cause of my soul pain, was not a behavior I had any control over. But there are other hurts I am working through, and I do need to set certain boundaries for that source to stop causing trauma to my heart.

Pain is productive. One thing I tell all mamas-to-be, as we discuss birth, is to keep in mind that the pain of their labor will be a productive pain. It completely changes their response to the pain when they change their mindset about the pain. I’ve been repeating that mantra to myself as I finish my counseling and physical therapy sessions.
I mindfully and soulfully feel out this ache and I envision what needs to happen, what I need to work on. Pain shows us what needs to change. And I’m convinced that God uses pain as powerfully as He uses love to carve out our souls and make us new. Like that therapist’s hand, roaming, pressing, pulling, questions asking and body exploring to find the source, work it back into its proper place, and allow room for healing.
When I first realized that what I’ve been experiencing my whole life is depersonalization disorder, I knew I didn’t want to ask God to take it away. In fact, I asked our friends to not pray that it just goes away- I asked them to pray for Father to infuse me with bravery because I know going through the pain is the fastest route to healing.

Pain clarifies. My wise and strong friend recently said that pain is like window cleaner that helps you see yourself more clearly and that has also been floating around in my soul, comforting me as I feel the wound go deeper, new places calling out their own tenderness. I’ve said before that my writing flows more freely when my soul is in turmoil and now I’m sure it’s because the grime over my heart and the fog around my mind is wiped away through the process of hurt.

God will never waste your pain. The hope and beauty of all this suffering, this struggle, is the knowing that as long as I am not fighting against God and against this journey, none of this will be wasted. It’s a promise I have and a thing I can hold God to- that He will complete this work in me. The crying out, the tedious sorting through of my symptoms, it’s not pointless. And that is the only thing that could keep me going. One day, if I tell my story enough times in enough safe places, not only will it be just a story, but it will be used to help other people.

So, I’ll push on and I will continue to allow pain to clean out the sediment from the bottom of my soul. Today, I feel strong enough.

“When pain is to be born, a little courage helps more than much knowledge, a little human sympathy more than much courage, and the least tincture of the love of God more than all.” 
― C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain

Pieces

I’m having a little bit of a hard time organizing my feelings into defined words. I don’t know if it’s because, after all the talking I do every week, I just don’t have anything left to say? Or if it’s because my soul can’t handle more talking-about-the-hard-things. So, I’m not sure where to start when I begin to type out this journey. I really want to spill it as I walk through it.

What I can tell you is that Pieces by Amanda Cook/Bethel is my lifeline, right now. Every week, I have to dig up all the painful things and voices that make me feel powerless and I have to fight against them. It’s so exhausting and I feel raw, open, bleeding, and buzzing for the rest of the week. Counseling has this way (obviously) of bringing the sediment to the top so that it can be washed out, dirty water rinsed clean.

But, in the process, new fears are formed (or maybe old fears in new outfits) and all my hurt is showing up in my dreams. Literally.

This song, though.

You don’t give your heart in pieces
You don’t hide yourself to tease us

I’ve written about this song before, I heard it for the first time the morning after I had an especially daunting and taunting dream about the abandonment I didn’t know I lived through. And all my soul-clogs just came up and out; afterward, I lay in my husband’s arms weeping, shoulders shaking and nose running, because I needed to hear that God is a good dad. I needed to know that He doesn’t intentionally hide Himself from me to tease me, to see if I’ll have the courage or energy to seek after Him.

I feel like a lot of those feelings are what I think dads and God are like. A means to an end. A vessel to manipulate, to control, so that “His way” can be the only alternative to the highway. I still don’t know what it means to have God be Dad, Father. I don’t know what that looks like in a way that is not filled with twisted emotions and mental games that leave me doubting myself.

But this song tells me what I know is true. So I put it on repeat, buds in my ears, and I listen to it, willing it to seep into my soul. I let my hard beat hard to the rhythm and I remind myself that this is what God is like, not all those other things I’ve learned, the lies used to keep me under-thumb.

Your love’s not fractured
It’s not a troubled mind
It isn’t anxious, it’s not the restless kind
Your love’s not passive
It’s never disengaged
It’s always present
It hangs on every word we say
Love keeps its promises, it keeps its word
It honors what’s sacred, cause its vows are good
Your love’s not broken
It’s not insecure
Your love’s not selfish, Your love is pure

depersonalization.

what it is: “a disorder marked by periods of feeling disconnected or detached from one’s body and thoughts. The disorder is sometimes described as feeling like you are observing yourself from outside your body or like being in a dream,” according to Google.

what it is not: fun. healthy. easy. contagious. easily remedied.

what it feels like: Google has it technically right. but experiencing it isn’t as easy as describing it. describing it isn’t easy, either. bear with me as i try to find words that don’t make me sound as clinically insane as i feel.

you know in the matrix, in that scene where Mr. Anderson is in his boss’ office and he’s watching the guy clean the window? Mr. Anderson is watching things around him and technically, he is not real, not in the world of the matrix. he has just been inserted into the scene and really isn’t connected in any way. the feeling of that scene is every “something here is not real” and it leaves the audience with a sense of unease. (i just re-watched that scene and i’m rethinking the correlation, but i’m going to leave it here because every time i try to explain depersonalization, it’s what is in my mind so it must make sense in a way.)

unease and not real is what i feel when i experience a “dp” attack. my vision gets very narrowed, my hearing goes a little fussy, almost as if i’m in a room with really epic padding. i feel myself, my actions, from outside of myself. i doubt my very existence- as if with one misplaced breath, i will be gone. because i am not real. my heart races at that thought and i begin to hyperventilate, trying to think of anything but the thought that is consuming me: i am not real. how can this be real.

please, i know it sounds melodramatic. and if i were reading this without ever experiencing, it would probably shrug a little and feel pity for the writer. but it’s so much more than that. it is terrifying, concerning, overwhelming, consuming.

why i’m writing about it: about 20 years ago, in my developmental prime, a traumatic event occurred. unfortunately, even though this traumatic event was cut short, it left a mark. as i grew older, other traumatic experiences sat themselves upon it and together they created this large, shapeless mass in my mind and soul. but i never knew what exactly it was or even if it was a thing. i thought i was unstable or oppressed and i needed to deal with it. by prayer. by facing the feeling head on. by distraction. by more prayer. nothing worked, though, because the problem wasn’t the depersonalization- it’s what caused the depersonalization that needs to be addressed.

at this time in my life, i’m not ready to talk about the parts of my life that created dp. one day i think i will be okay enough to share all of my story.

that’s my goal, for my story to just be a story- for dp to be a thing i once struggled against.

what i’m doing now: three weeks ago i began counseling with a professional. it spurred one of the most intense episodes of dp i’ve had so there’s definitely anxiety riding in the passenger seat of this journey. i know it’s going to get a little worse before it gets better. today, i feel brave enough.