Any of us who have ever been torn apart by trauma, illness, or adversity know that healing is never a linear process. On good days, I might describe it as a beautiful pattern of ever-expanding spirals. On others, I’ll tell you that it’s messy, confusing, exhausting, and often very, very, lonely. But it does get better …
Something I wrote long ago
I want to share something that I wrote several years ago. It was in the midst of grief, PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder), and intense bipolar episodes, and I’m sharing it because that’s where you might be right now, I’m sharing it because it once made a friend feel less alone, and maybe it will help you too. But mostly, I’m sharing it so that you know there’s hope, that you won’t always feel this way, that it does get better. What I wrote then feels so distant now that it could’ve happened to someone else … and what I wrote was this …
This is my life lately. A frenzied cycle. Because here I am, whole, complete: me. And then here I am, being pulled apart. By some unseen force. And then this is me, being put back together again, although somehow subtly different. And then pulled apart again.
Sometimes I’m pulled apart and pieced back together in the space of a week. Sometimes it’s in just one day. Sometimes it even feels like it’s happening in just an hour. All over, again, and again, and again.
Sometimes it feels like I’m whirling in the same mad whirlpool. But every time the pieces of me coalesce again, I am somewhat different. And somehow, I know that I will never be the same.
I don’t know how many times I’m going to spin and whirl and shatter within these cycles, I don’t know how many more pieces of me are left, I don’t know what I’ll look like by the end, I just know that already, somehow, in both the smallest and the most profound of ways, I am utterly, utterly different. And even though I still feel a little bit broken, I know that I’m not broken like I was before … something is healing.
Who I was is ash. Who I was no longer serves this new existence I am birthing into. I am both asleep and awake. I am both tormented and honoured. I am both here, and here again.
But today …
Today, I am no longer tormented. Or spinning and whirling and shattering. I am no longer this shadow who feels like she’s being torn apart over and over again.
I’m not going to lie and tell you it’s all sunshine and rainbows. Living with bipolar is like being in constant recovery. There is still much of my own trauma to heal. And there are many more mountains to climb. But the pain is ebbing. The bipolar is a lot more stable these days. I don’t feel lost or broken. My heart isn’t cracking. And my mind is no longer my enemy. Or slipping over the edge.
In many ways, I feel like I’m coming out of a coma. The earth beneath me is real. Soft, but solid. The world around me full of promise. I am full. And present. There are many more moments of beauty and love and exhilaration. Of liberation and quiet whispers of peace.
I may have been in a dark and messy place, but I can tell you, with my full heart, that no matter what I went through, it feels good that I am still here.
So how did I get to this lighter, softer place?
How did I crawl through the madness to get here? What did I do to heal? Quite simply, I stayed. That was the first part. Even if I was only hanging on by my fingernails at times, I stayed. I believed I would get better. I didn’t know how, but I knew that I would.
And then I practiced patience. And self-kindness. Lots and lots and lots of it. It is not easy to be still when all you want to do is fly. Healing takes so much energy. So much more than they might tell you. We have to reach into our deepest reserves. And keep reaching. It’s exhausting. And often, quite debilitating.
So we have to hold ourselves gently. Give ourselves the space to heal. Forgive ourselves for not being everything we expect ourselves to be.
And yes, I took the meds. A lot of them. I closed my circles, holding only onto those who held me with compassion. I worked with my psychologist, checked in with my doctor, and went to healers of all kinds. I meditated, I sat in nature, I did art therapy, EFT, TRE, and even family constellation therapy. I made myself more vulnerable than I could bear … and then finally, I came up for air.
If you’re in the dark space now that I was then, keep going, beautiful warrior. Be gentle, be kind, and find what works for you. I believe that you will heal. I believe in you.
