This first poem I jotted down in the wee hours of a morning in late August but never shared. The second came out early this morning and reminded me of the first. It’s always interesting to see what the soul needs to release at that time before the mind kicks in.
It is the most difficult feeling:
knowing I am helpless to save the ones I love.
What could be worse?
The fear that they may believe
I don’t care enough to help.
The pain doubles and yet
helpless I still am.
I would give anything to make them happy,
help them be at peace,
but there is nothing I can do.
Nothing is what I must do.
It is the only way to free them
to experience their own journeys.
Uncaring I may seem,
but my heart aches
full of love and prayers for miracles.
Shhh…. don’t let it show.
Don’t let anyone know
that inside you chaos reigns,
that fear courses through your veins,
that you’re continually terrified
of what’s on the other side.
Shhh…. don’t reveal
how scared you feel,
on even higher alert at night
when no one else has danger in sight,
afraid of what you will find
whenever you open your eyes.
Shhh…. just pretend.
The madness must soon end
and peace will come again.
But trust is nowhere to be found
in this world where fear abounds,
panic striking at every unusual sound.
Shhh…. shut up and deal
but not with you how feel.
Push it down, lock it away.
You get to live another day.
Why are you still sad?
Nothing in your life is bad.
If any of this strikes a chord with you, know you’re not alone.
And know for sure that if you have faced trauma and never opened up about it, that same kind of experience will keep repeating itself in various forms until you recognize it and deal with it.
I couldn’t help my brother survive epilepsy.
I couldn’t help my parents when my brother died.
I couldn’t help boyfriends face their old unhealed wounds.
And I couldn’t help myself until I accepted that I wasn’t responsible for any of these other people but that I was responsible for myself.
Only then could I start to forgive myself for all the unrealistic pressure I had felt and controlling behaviors I had exhibited, for the unhealthy situations I had allowed to continue, always in the name of loving someone.
It’s taken me a long time to get here, but I now believe this is true:
No matter how much I loved these people, it was not my job to fix them. Their lives were not my responsibility. In fact, the best thing I could do was to love them unconditionally and let them be on their journeys, while at the same time take care of my own well-being.
Funny thing is I have sucked up every kind of responsibility I could find throughout my life. I was proud of how I handled things so well, so independently. What I didn’t realize until recently was that I had not fully accepted responsibility for myself — not just for my actions but also for my thoughts and my beliefs, which affect the energy I put out into the world.
We often do not create our initial wounds, but we are responsible for healing them and for being accountable for how we live our lives. With that realization, my journey started to take a much different direction. I needed to heal if I was ever going to find peace. And that has required opening up and allowing myself and others to see my messy truth.
Vulnerability is not pretty or easy work, but it is necessary. Thankfully, it reveals we are not alone in our pain or shame. We all have wounds. And the process is beautiful, for it allows the natural courage and strength of our spirits to come forth, and we discover that, at our cores, underneath the scars, we are unconditional love. I believe discovering that alone is worth the work.