We’re talking about attachment theory in our community and I admitted to some of my inner circle that being securely attached feels like a pipe dream, that I feel like I’ll never get over the abandonment and spiritual trauma I’ve been through. One of my best friends reminded me that healing isn’t a prerequisite for relationship, but that relationship is how we move through our healing, learning how to bear witness to the process. I didn’t come out of that meeting feeling on top of the world, but I did feel less despairing and more motivated to keep going…and certainly that counts for something.
Ugh so risky but so worth it! And I’m damn well going to earn secured attachment. I keep meaning to read bell hooks but now I need to make it a point. 🙌🏻🥹🩷
the choice to move toward security is just as magnificent as the goal. you can be proud, already, of the shifts. you can be patient, even now, with the struggle.
(Said as someone who def has attachment wounds. 🙋🏻♀️ My process isn’t always pretty, but it is always worth it.)
There is the image I see in the mirror, the image I think others see, and the true image Jesus sees. They are so incredibly difficult to reconcile in the face of suffering and grief. No. I mean impossible to reconcile. I must choose one and live into that. Today, as I head into the Mayo Clinic again, I’m choosing to let Jesus define me. Not the diagnoses.
Oooof. Letting ourselves be defined as whole rather than wounded is a whole life’s work, I think. I didn’t realize you are a Mayo patient too! I head back there next month. I so hope your time there is validating and immensely helpful!
Suffering shows me I am human. among humans. What if I had never suffered? I might still be feeling separate and alone. I can now say, "I am one of you."
I do believe there is a suffering that sits near the core of being human for all of us, a separateness that is sensed, but is never the whole story of who we really are.
In case anyone sees this. I’ll be coming back to these comments later! I’m on retreat and didn’t realize I wouldn’t have cell service. Loving the little bits of comments I’ve seen. We have quite a fire roaring.
Needed this today - yesterday I felt so ashamed because I’ve been “unemployed” for almost 2 years & while I’ve been working so hard to care for my home & husband while being hit with blow after blow of injuries & illness & family hospitalizations & death (my mom) all infuriatingly outside my control… & of course I have nothing to show for the work like I did growing up. I was a 4.0 student (class of Covid19) with awards & honors & have been like that since I was little. I’ve never spent time on things before that didn’t get me tangible praise - a good grade or a medal or trophy… until God led me into a new kind of hell-valley with challenges I couldn’t have imagined. Yesterday I felt an even deeper sense than usual of being a failure because I can’t put anything professional on my resume for the past two years. The interviewers can’t see that I literally have worked harder these past two years than ever before in my life. But God does. Thank you for your voice K.J.. God speaks so kind and gentle through your solid words.
I read your comment and teared up a little because I am in a very (eerily) similar situation… Unemployed (out of necessity due to chronic health issues), trying to care for my home and husband (and often struggling with even that), getting hit with illness after illness (though not as much as when I was working), and losing my mother to cancer.
Beyond that, as someone who was valedictorian of my class 10+ years ago, I frequently feel like a failure for still working on my bachelor’s degree and never really having found the “success” that I pictured for myself in high school.
I say all that to say, your words, “The interviewers can’t see that I literally have worked harder these past two years than ever before in my life. But God does.” made me tear up. Thank you for sharing your heart here because it definitely touched mine this morning.
woah. I lost my mom to cancer too. less than 2 months ago. It has felt like no one understands. In these battles I read posts& imagine myself having K.J. as a friend just because she knows suffering too.. I don’t know you but feel you are my dear friend in how much I hear you truly understand. Even more than my closest friends. You understand. Thank you for communing with me Ashley ♥️ we are NOT failures & never have been. Not even close. & we are not alone. 😭
There is something very sweet about connecting with someone who has a certain level of understanding in these situations. And I definitely understand about how sometimes even our closest friends (who may be loving and supportive and as empathetic as they can be) just can’t make the leap with us. And yet you’re right in that we are still not alone.
Can I reply to this conversation and just say that this resonates with me, too. Kindred spirits. Peace, grace, and unquestioned belonging sent to you two.
I cannot even begin to express how deeply your words moved me when I read them. In the last twelve years of living with a chronic illness, I can tell you how many times (well-meaning) people have praised my “fortitude” and called me “trooper” only to (unwittingly) make me feel like my illness has somehow stolen my identity. And while suffering has certainly shaped parts of my identity, I don’t want to be seen a “strong sufferer.” I’m still a person who needs grace and joy like every other person in the world.
Thank you for putting into words so many things that I’ve not been able to, as you often do. ♥️
This is beautiful, and it really resonated. It is so easy to compare suffering. I’ve been walking through a difficult season of pregnancy loss due to a molar pregnancy and I had to fight against feeling like I was taking it too hard, grieving an invisible loss. We have people in our family also suffering with no end in sight and my inclination was to minimize my own experience because it wasn’t significant compared to theirs. I’m going to reread this and really sit with it.
This is clean and true and oh-so-helpful. Our family lost a young member to a violent crime this week. Because of divorce, we were not recently connected, and this weird feeling of shame kept tagging along with my grief--a feeling that I have no right to be this torn open by grief. After reading your words, I'm feeling a little relief in considering how this could just be the fruit of comparison. I'm also praying for the grace to come to grief without a feeling that I must earn the right to it.
Thank you for sharing this poem, KJ! It's beautiful and powerful. I have definitely been met with a sense of one-upmanship when sharing my pain with others in the past. And I'm taken aback every single time. I think, "Is this some sort of sick competition?" Am I supposed to feel guilty for the grief my pain has caused because your pain is worse? And honestly, I bet I've inadvertently done that to others, too. In an effort to relate, I've unwittingly trumped their story of suffering. It's hard not to talk about ourselves, even when we have the good intention of trying to relate and connect with someone else's story. I am learning to simply listen, to see others pain, to recognize us all as you so beautifully said, "proud citizens of the country of beating hearts."
Thank you! I work and own my own home, and was feeling overwhelmed a little with the responsibility of doing it all by myself the other day. I tried to express this to a friend who promptly complained that at least I don’t have a child who relies on me for everything and she wishes she had my life. It really did not sit well. It’s not like I’m suffering greatly, but just wanted a moment to complain safely! No, I don’t have a child to take care of, but I can still be overwhelmed. I appreciate this piece!
I feel like I've had brief seasons of standing on the podium and longer seasons of feeling crushed under the podium. As I mentally prepare for the rest of month to feature a visit with one doctor a week, I'm intent on refusing to participate in the relay to nowhere that feels all too familiar in times like these. Thank you so much for sharing this. I'm not sure what else I could say here, but I think I needed this today.
This. It is exactly what my family has done on NYE to watch our anger and ache of impossibly difficult years burn to ashes. A bonfire, whose etymology I have been mistaken about. It's not a "good" fire. Not a Latin base but an English one for it means "bone" fire. How apt!! Burning the very bones of rotten circumstances and ideologies that have threatened the health of my actual bones, my somatic wholeness.
We’re talking about attachment theory in our community and I admitted to some of my inner circle that being securely attached feels like a pipe dream, that I feel like I’ll never get over the abandonment and spiritual trauma I’ve been through. One of my best friends reminded me that healing isn’t a prerequisite for relationship, but that relationship is how we move through our healing, learning how to bear witness to the process. I didn’t come out of that meeting feeling on top of the world, but I did feel less despairing and more motivated to keep going…and certainly that counts for something.
I’ve been thinking all week about bell hook’s words: “Rarely, if ever, are any of us healed in isolation. Healing is an act of communion.”
It feels risky as hell, right? I’m damn grateful earned secure attachment is a THING.
Ugh so risky but so worth it! And I’m damn well going to earn secured attachment. I keep meaning to read bell hooks but now I need to make it a point. 🙌🏻🥹🩷
the choice to move toward security is just as magnificent as the goal. you can be proud, already, of the shifts. you can be patient, even now, with the struggle.
(Said as someone who def has attachment wounds. 🙋🏻♀️ My process isn’t always pretty, but it is always worth it.)
There is the image I see in the mirror, the image I think others see, and the true image Jesus sees. They are so incredibly difficult to reconcile in the face of suffering and grief. No. I mean impossible to reconcile. I must choose one and live into that. Today, as I head into the Mayo Clinic again, I’m choosing to let Jesus define me. Not the diagnoses.
Oooof. Letting ourselves be defined as whole rather than wounded is a whole life’s work, I think. I didn’t realize you are a Mayo patient too! I head back there next month. I so hope your time there is validating and immensely helpful!
I’m at the Phoenix/Scottsdale campus until August 1. If you want to connect and share notes, let me know.
Suffering shows me I am human. among humans. What if I had never suffered? I might still be feeling separate and alone. I can now say, "I am one of you."
I do believe there is a suffering that sits near the core of being human for all of us, a separateness that is sensed, but is never the whole story of who we really are.
In case anyone sees this. I’ll be coming back to these comments later! I’m on retreat and didn’t realize I wouldn’t have cell service. Loving the little bits of comments I’ve seen. We have quite a fire roaring.
Wow wow wow That poem resonated so deeply within my soul that I can't even put words to it yet.
😭 I’m so grateful to hear that.
Needed this today - yesterday I felt so ashamed because I’ve been “unemployed” for almost 2 years & while I’ve been working so hard to care for my home & husband while being hit with blow after blow of injuries & illness & family hospitalizations & death (my mom) all infuriatingly outside my control… & of course I have nothing to show for the work like I did growing up. I was a 4.0 student (class of Covid19) with awards & honors & have been like that since I was little. I’ve never spent time on things before that didn’t get me tangible praise - a good grade or a medal or trophy… until God led me into a new kind of hell-valley with challenges I couldn’t have imagined. Yesterday I felt an even deeper sense than usual of being a failure because I can’t put anything professional on my resume for the past two years. The interviewers can’t see that I literally have worked harder these past two years than ever before in my life. But God does. Thank you for your voice K.J.. God speaks so kind and gentle through your solid words.
Melody,
I read your comment and teared up a little because I am in a very (eerily) similar situation… Unemployed (out of necessity due to chronic health issues), trying to care for my home and husband (and often struggling with even that), getting hit with illness after illness (though not as much as when I was working), and losing my mother to cancer.
Beyond that, as someone who was valedictorian of my class 10+ years ago, I frequently feel like a failure for still working on my bachelor’s degree and never really having found the “success” that I pictured for myself in high school.
I say all that to say, your words, “The interviewers can’t see that I literally have worked harder these past two years than ever before in my life. But God does.” made me tear up. Thank you for sharing your heart here because it definitely touched mine this morning.
Ashley
woah. I lost my mom to cancer too. less than 2 months ago. It has felt like no one understands. In these battles I read posts& imagine myself having K.J. as a friend just because she knows suffering too.. I don’t know you but feel you are my dear friend in how much I hear you truly understand. Even more than my closest friends. You understand. Thank you for communing with me Ashley ♥️ we are NOT failures & never have been. Not even close. & we are not alone. 😭
There is something very sweet about connecting with someone who has a certain level of understanding in these situations. And I definitely understand about how sometimes even our closest friends (who may be loving and supportive and as empathetic as they can be) just can’t make the leap with us. And yet you’re right in that we are still not alone.
Can I reply to this conversation and just say that this resonates with me, too. Kindred spirits. Peace, grace, and unquestioned belonging sent to you two.
K.J.,
I cannot even begin to express how deeply your words moved me when I read them. In the last twelve years of living with a chronic illness, I can tell you how many times (well-meaning) people have praised my “fortitude” and called me “trooper” only to (unwittingly) make me feel like my illness has somehow stolen my identity. And while suffering has certainly shaped parts of my identity, I don’t want to be seen a “strong sufferer.” I’m still a person who needs grace and joy like every other person in the world.
Thank you for putting into words so many things that I’ve not been able to, as you often do. ♥️
Ashley
*can’t tell you
This is beautiful, and it really resonated. It is so easy to compare suffering. I’ve been walking through a difficult season of pregnancy loss due to a molar pregnancy and I had to fight against feeling like I was taking it too hard, grieving an invisible loss. We have people in our family also suffering with no end in sight and my inclination was to minimize my own experience because it wasn’t significant compared to theirs. I’m going to reread this and really sit with it.
This is clean and true and oh-so-helpful. Our family lost a young member to a violent crime this week. Because of divorce, we were not recently connected, and this weird feeling of shame kept tagging along with my grief--a feeling that I have no right to be this torn open by grief. After reading your words, I'm feeling a little relief in considering how this could just be the fruit of comparison. I'm also praying for the grace to come to grief without a feeling that I must earn the right to it.
Thank you for sharing this poem, KJ! It's beautiful and powerful. I have definitely been met with a sense of one-upmanship when sharing my pain with others in the past. And I'm taken aback every single time. I think, "Is this some sort of sick competition?" Am I supposed to feel guilty for the grief my pain has caused because your pain is worse? And honestly, I bet I've inadvertently done that to others, too. In an effort to relate, I've unwittingly trumped their story of suffering. It's hard not to talk about ourselves, even when we have the good intention of trying to relate and connect with someone else's story. I am learning to simply listen, to see others pain, to recognize us all as you so beautifully said, "proud citizens of the country of beating hearts."
“Suffering doesn’t make you special” hits in a few painful and necessary ways. Phew. Thank you
Thank you! I work and own my own home, and was feeling overwhelmed a little with the responsibility of doing it all by myself the other day. I tried to express this to a friend who promptly complained that at least I don’t have a child who relies on me for everything and she wishes she had my life. It really did not sit well. It’s not like I’m suffering greatly, but just wanted a moment to complain safely! No, I don’t have a child to take care of, but I can still be overwhelmed. I appreciate this piece!
I feel like I've had brief seasons of standing on the podium and longer seasons of feeling crushed under the podium. As I mentally prepare for the rest of month to feature a visit with one doctor a week, I'm intent on refusing to participate in the relay to nowhere that feels all too familiar in times like these. Thank you so much for sharing this. I'm not sure what else I could say here, but I think I needed this today.
"Warm yourself by the fire
of your futile beliefs
and dismantled dreams.
/
Set out chairs in a circle
and call out in your clear
and humbled voice:
Come and sit with me awhile."
This. It is exactly what my family has done on NYE to watch our anger and ache of impossibly difficult years burn to ashes. A bonfire, whose etymology I have been mistaken about. It's not a "good" fire. Not a Latin base but an English one for it means "bone" fire. How apt!! Burning the very bones of rotten circumstances and ideologies that have threatened the health of my actual bones, my somatic wholeness.
I'm in. Pulling up a chair in solidarity.
This hit me hard today!
I love this so much.