You can love your way there.
On shame, vacation (ššš¼), and the story that can shift us back to life.
Hi friends,
Itās almost hard to believe, but Iām writing to you from home. Well, my home city, Colorado Springs. Iām sitting across from Ryan in a coffee shop, in the same booth where my agent and I dreamed up my next book (a year ago? two years ago? After so much change, I honestly canāt remember.). After two whole months away from home for surgery and recovery, Iām trying to settle into this part of my storyāthe part where I get to trust that things can and are getting better.
Perhaps the worst part of traumaāof all kindsāis the scar it leaves over the tender flesh of our trust.
I had eight fewer surgical scars the last time I sat in this booth. I was lighter in pounds and possibilities. I had no idea how much pain was ahead of me. I had long been practicing trusting that I could receive goodness, not just grief. I just had no idea how much grief was ahead.
Iām sitting hereāwhich, first, can I just say how good it is to be well enough to be sitting upright in a coffee shop doing normal things like staring at a blank screen for thirty minutes straight?āand I canāt stop thinking about you and your scars. Maybe you didnāt spend as many dollars as I did in doctorsā offices and hospitals this past year (or maybe you did, and ouch), but I imagine quite a few of you are reckoning with the same amount of damage.
Maybe the bones of what you once believed ended up crushing your family.
Maybe you lost a friendship you imagined would be lifelong.
Maybe you donāt recognize yourself in the mirror.
Maybe you donāt know how to hope anymore.
Maybe shame has been the soundtrack to your life for so long, you arenāt sure what else can move your body and soul forward.
I feel like I should confess to you that right now, right after writing those moody-ass lines, I started listening to Mr. Blue Sky by the Electric Light Orchestra. Sorry for the lack of a seamless segue. I promise Iām not about to patronize your pain.
Itās just that, somehow, sometimes, something deep within us shifts, and the sky turns blue again.
But, damn, the shifts we long for in body and soul take determination to deal with our damage with devotion.
Last week, I went on vacation and felt well. š After three weeks apart from Ryan for the second half of my surgery recovery, we reunited in the Denver airport with my family on our way from Montana to Disney World (!!).1 My brother pushed me up the jet-bridge in my wheelchair and as soon as I saw Ryan, I stood upāamazed to be together, proud to finally show him that I could stand after six weeks without putting any weight on my legs. I still canāt stop smiling thinking about that reunion.
We spent the week laughingāutterly amazed that I had energy to play and eat and participate in life again.
One day, after I caught a glimpse of a photo of myself that was disorientingāmy body still looks so different from the body that exists in my mindāI looked down at the electric scooter that was carrying me across the Magic Kingdom and the cane that was helping me stand, and I thought about damage, distance, and determination.
I remembered the me of one year ago, who practically danced across Disney beaming with childlike joy in the healthiest version of my body Iāve experienced as an adult.2
I remembered that just six weeks prior to our vacation, I could barely hold much of a conversation or leave my bed because of the damage disease had done to my bones and immune system.
And then I relished how far Iāve come. I let myself feel amazed that this body can and has healed so much.
And, there in a sea of Mouse Ears with a pretty pink castle behind me, I let the me of yesterday exist with the me of today, and realized, I had loved my way here, and I will keep loving my way back home into as much health as I can.
You can love your way into life.
Shame is a strong motivator of short-term change, especially for religious or formerly-religious folksāmyself included. Shame casts an eye toward the damage done to our bodies, faith, or families and says we better work harder and faster to return to a state that secures our belonging.
Hereās what most of us havenāt heard enough in the places we were told are most holy:
You have always belonged.
And no person or pain or problem can take your belonging away.
When shame has stood outside the door of my stretch-marked skin shouting that I better get my body back in shape faster, Iāve listened for the fear underneath the shouts. There is still a little kid in me who is afraid of change, who believes the sad and shallow story that my belonging and belovedness are bought through being strong, small, and successful. And, damn, she needs a hug.
Love already wrote a better story. Iām just learning, over and over again, how to love my way into a life where no matter what happens to me, what I look like, or what I can do, I am secure.
When I show up at the pool to swim my way into more strength, itās love moving my limbs.
Itās love moving my fingers over these keys, so fucking grateful to be able to write again, because I have looked at my damage with devotion and it has shown me that at the bottom of all of our brokenness is belonging.
And now, all I want for me and for you, more than a return to the bodies that didnāt seem as broken or the buildings that once held our prayers is to look again at our lives with a Love who has already looked at us, called us good, and is delighted to be walking (or wheeling) us home.
May we love our way back to life.
āKJ
Your turn:
Tell us in a comment what this stirred in you.
Or, tell us what you are learning about shame and love in your life right now.
Iām not the only one here worth listening to.
Somehow, right before I left Colorado for surgery at Mayo in MN, I found out that I had won a competition with my fave cozy things brand, Cozy Earth. Firstly, I thought it was hilariousābecause I had totally half-assed the competition and barely posted about it seeing as I was fighting so.many.diseases. Secondly, I was stunned. They gave me a few thousand dollars for a vacation, and after the medical mountain of dollars Iāve climbed this year, I could hardly believe we could afford a vacation. It still seemed far-fetched that Iād be well enough to go on the family vacation to Disney World that had been planned for over a year, but I hoped, set aside the money, andā¦somehow, WE GOT TO GO. š
Hereās what I wrote last year about being at Disney Worldāinterestingly, also about how trauma truncates our trust and how becoming like a child again really can restore what we once had lost:
Dang it. I need a whole Kleenex box this is so freaking beautiful. It stirs such an immense gratitude. 10 years ago I lost everything for using my voice to protect those entrusted to my care. I spent 18 months begging every night afterwards to not be here at all. Then a few years later I became a writer who lost her words to a brain injury. It was learning to love myself that helped me find my way forward. After 6 years of frustration and refusing to settle for what I was told I should, Iām writing again. And I didnāt just find the words I lost- I found better ones. And I found my voice. Deeper than it ever before. You can cuss all the way- just donāt ever give up. šš„°
Iām in a really hard season with anxiety and depression these days, and Iām learning just how much guilt/shame is influencing that, perpetuating it. And, Iām about to start digging back into work on a memoir, in which I need to show how much that same guilt/shame drove my life for so long. Itās hard to think about writing it. But I want this sense of belonging to bubble up. And the only way to that is through the brokenness and pain. Thank you for sharing these words, KJ. You help me hope for my body and soul.