I remember the day I saw a handout, a checklist of “signs of recovery from an eating disorder.” I scanned the list, mentally ranking where I stood: Got that one, check. That one’s better. I need to work on that one.
I remember the flutter of anxiety in my stomach, the way I felt so unsettled as I read the list. And I remember the determination, the drive in my belly to move my way through the list until each box was checked and done.
For a long time, I thought healing was my responsibility, that I had to march my way up the mountain. I felt so damaged. I also felt really motivated.
I thought I was being ‘good’ and mature – that I was being a responsible adult, facing my demons and doing my inner work.
But in the quiet hours of the day, I felt a gnawing shame about the parts of me that were hurting – those parts that were undeveloped and ‘unrecovered.’ I wanted to work hard, and fast, to fix what felt so broken.
Friend, you may relate.
It took me many years and many tears to understand that this drive to heal myself was another symptom of trauma. It just looked better, on the surface, than the eating disorder. It was dressed in responsible clothes, as ‘doing the right thing.’
It isn’t easy to look inside and to meet who’s there – whether it’s the part of ourselves that wants to march our healing forward, the part of ourself that overeats, or the part of ourself that feels guilty for everything.
Meeting these hurt, hidden or striving parts of ourselves is like shining a light in a dark room. There can be wonder as we see. But there’s often a pervading sense of shame about our vulnerability – the parts of us that were wounded and that act in wounded or wounding ways.
It can take many years for us to soften, to meet these places with kindness, compassion and curiosity. It can take many years for us to soften the drive to march ourselves up the mountain.
At a daily level, here’s what this practice can look like. We pause. We recognize, ouch, something hurts. Something inside is asking for attention. Or ouch, I’m feeling anxious and like I need to drive my healing forward.
What is this tightness? What is this band of pain around my heart? What is this impulse to fix?
Hello, pain. Hello, wanting to fix. Hello, wanting to march my way up the mountain.
We spend time with these places. We breathe together. We offer them welcome, and as much loving presence as we have available. Or we ask for help to welcome them, from friends or therapists or from Spirit.
Slowly, over time, these places start to reveal their truth. They share their burdens. They share what it’s like for them, how they feel frozen, or frightened, or enraged. We begin to create a relationship, and to relate.
And with each visit to our inner worlds, we gain confidence – we don’t have to be afraid of what we find inside. Often what we imagine will be there and what is there are two very different things.
Healing takes patience, humility, trust and acceptance. We have to trust that healing is happening, that Nature knows what she’s doing.
We need patience for the not yet healed or immature parts of ourselves. (I say immature with respect – immature is in still growing, not immature as in being bad.) And we need acceptance to welcome home our exiles.
This, my friend, is recovery and healing – to bit by bit welcome home more and more of ourselves, until the table is wide, and full, groaning like a holiday feast.
At this table, the ‘healed’ parts of ourselves and the still hurting parts of ourselves can feast together. There’s not a rush to fix, but more marveling – would you take a look at this guest list! How can I be a loving host to what I find inside?