Weathering the Storm

 We all face storms in our lives.

I have certainly had my share.

My childhood.

A marriage to a narcissist.

Overcoming addiction.

Watching my daughter struggle with addiction for eight years and then losing her.

The many losses that followed.

And now, my health challenges.

Each storm has asked something different of me.

And each time, somehow, I have found the courage to face it.

Not because I was never afraid.

Not because I always knew what to do.

And certainly not because it was easy.

I simply kept going.

There were times when I wanted to give up.

Times when the storm felt bigger than anything I could possibly handle.

But I learned that I don’t have to know how the storm will end.

I only have to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

The one thing I cannot do is give up.

I think of the words from A Course in Miracles:

“All things are lessons God would have me learn.”

I don’t always understand the lesson while I’m living it.

Sometimes I question why I am being asked to walk through yet another storm.

But perhaps I don’t have to understand everything.

Maybe my job is simply to stay open.

To listen.

To learn.

To trust.

Every storm has changed me.

Some have broken my heart.

Some have humbled me.

Some have shown me strength I didn’t know I had.

And perhaps this storm will teach me something too.

I don’t know what is waiting for me on the other side.

But I know this:

I’ve weathered storms before.

And I am still here.

So I will keep walking.

Keep trusting.

Keep learning.

And when the next storm comes, I will remind myself—

I have survived every storm I’ve faced so far.

And I can learn from this one too.

When Night Falls

 I don’t have a clear memory of exactly how I felt as a child.

But there are some things I know for sure.

I know I was afraid of my parents and of being punished.

I remember bedtime.

My sister and I shared a bed, and we were told that we better be quiet—or else.

My little girl learned to become very still.

Even into adulthood, I could sleep all night and wake up in the exact same position I had fallen asleep in, barely moving.

I also know I had nightmares as a child.

And there was no one there to console me.

No one to tell me that I was safe.

Sometimes I see the similarities between those nights and what I am experiencing today.

My little girl seems to show up most strongly at night.

I can feel her terror.

It is as though some part of her is still waiting for punishment.

Still waiting for something bad to happen.

And when my physical pain becomes intense at night, I wonder if something inside her recognizes that feeling.

Pain can feel like punishment to a child who learned early that punishment was always waiting around the corner.

I don’t know exactly what happened in those early years.

But there are things my body seems to be carrying that my conscious mind cannot fully explain.

What I do know is that something in me feels afraid.

Something in me is still waiting.

And perhaps my physical struggles have stirred up that old fear in ways I am only beginning to understand.

There is trauma here.

I can feel it.

And maybe I don’t have to uncover every detail to honor what that little girl experienced.

Maybe I simply need to sit beside her when night comes.

To tell her,

You don’t have to be perfectly still anymore.

You don’t have to wait for punishment.

And when the pain comes, perhaps I can remind her of something she never heard enough as a child:

Pain is not punishment.

You did nothing wrong.

You are safe with me.

Maybe this is what healing looks like.

Not forcing the memories to come.

Not demanding that the fear disappear.

But staying beside her in the darkness until, little by little, she learns that night does not mean danger.

Trusting My Intuition

 As a child, I didn’t have much choice.

I was expected to do what my parents told me to do.

Their decisions were the decisions.

Their feelings mattered.

Their rules were to be followed.

I learned early not to question the people who were supposed to know better.

But somewhere along the way, I carried that lesson into adulthood.

I still listened too much to the advice of other people.

Doctors.

Experts.

People I believed knew more than I did.

These past few years have brought that pattern into sharp focus.

I have listened to doctor after doctor give me direction, hoping that the next treatment, the next procedure, or the next answer would finally bring relief.

Some were wonderful doctors.

I don’t believe they were careless or didn’t want to help me.

But I’ve come to realize that no one person can always see the whole picture.

They see what they have been trained to see.

They have their knowledge, their experience, and their perspective.

But I am the one living inside this body.

I am the one who feels what is happening.

And somewhere along the way, I began to understand that I have another source of wisdom.

My intuition.

It took me many years to even recognize that I had one.

It took even longer to trust it.

Perhaps that is because trusting my intuition requires something I wasn’t taught as a child.

Trusting myself.

Listening to that quiet voice inside me.

Paying attention when something doesn’t feel right.

Allowing myself to ask questions.

And giving myself permission to say, “I don’t know if this is right for me.”

I don’t have to reject the wisdom of others to honor my own.

I can listen.

I can learn.

I can consider advice.

And then I can go inside myself and ask,

What do I know?

What does my body tell me?

What feels right?

Maybe this is another part of becoming the safe place for the little girl inside me.

She spent so many years being told what to think, what to feel, and what to do.

Now I want her to know that she has a voice.

And I am finally learning to listen.