There Where You Are
Yes, other people have been through this — no experience is unique. Yet. You have never been here before. Your dark night of the soul is unique to you, and when you come through it — and you will come through it — you will be standing in the bright day, celebrating the return to you. Until then, you are in the wilderness learning what it is to fall apart — to break and bruise. To feel so humiliated. So powerless — defeated by confusion. What you will discover is that you are your own savior — your own guide — and the more deeply you know who you are — what you value and know — your ability to be strong, to learn and begin again will become a foundation for the wisdom you are gaining, even though you cannot see that today.
You may be recovering from a bitter break up or divorce, or perhaps coming out of addiction. Maybe you have lost everything or are grieving a loss you knew, theoretically at least, was inevitable but did not expect just yet — there where you are, alone in the dark struggling to stand. It is OK for you to be temporarily lost in pain, rage, confusion or regret — wedded to grief, becoming a navigator of panic attacks and the ugliest emotions. Revenge is on your mind, I know. So is giving up — giving yourself over to the shadows that seem to overwhelm any sense that a return to happiness — to yourself — is at all possible. Remember, Dear One, that storms can rage for days, blocking out all light. Rainy seasons can make you forget a sun gleams brilliant in a clear sky somewhere, and that someday the skies above you will be bright and open, and you will spend days and days laughing and singing and reminding yourself that, yes — this is as it is supposed to be. The sun follows the rain, the rains follow the sun — the seasons, like the planets and stars follow their necessary orbits, just like the dance of the moon and the tides. So too with our seemingly fragile selves.
They say strength is gained in adversity, and while that adage makes sense when you are well and the ground below you is solid, it makes you want to slap the one saying it to you now. Now, when you are on quick sand and there is no light on the path it seems callous — dismissive, even. On your journey through the forests of confusion, you feel no strength. You feel the need to be held — to have someone light to path, if only for a minute or two so that you can try to identify a way out — the way home. You feel the need to be given what has been taken away, or what you perhaps never had, though you have needed it so badly. You wake every day in your pain, and don't need affirmations best left to Hallmark greeting cards — you need to feel seen. Understood. To have it known that, yes, others have been through this, and yes, you know you will survive — that does not change where you are — does not change the simple fact that you are in the throws of it now, and it is frightening. You need to speak what has been held back — the terrible truths haunting your mind — the awful ghosts lurking in too many memories.
This is how you become a regent of your own growth. This is how you learn to heal — by being so alone. By being offered the wrong words — shallow support and lack of understanding — by being encouraged to just get over it, go for a walk, start dating or whatever poorly considered advice is coming your way. Affirmations to embrace your power or to just sit with it make no sense when you feel powerless and are too overwhelmed by all of it to discern with what it you are supposed to be sitting. Some day you will wake without the ghosts there to greet you. You will sleep soundly, your dreams untroubled, and will discover in many wonderful, inspiring moments that you have indeed become stronger. You have guided yourself through the murky waters you were certain would pull you under forever. You will find that now you are there to offer the support that others need — not the hollow adages meant to keep distance between your suffering and the person with whom you are sharing it — but the deep knowledge, the wisdom that comes from experience. Your personal wisdom, born of your own struggles, becomes another brilliant thread in this tapestry we weave together — sharing our stories. By sharing your history with those who will come to you in their deepest pain, they will know that you too have been there — have traversed those desolate wastes — and that while you won't be able to take away their suffering, you will be there to help them bear it. To hold what light you can — to model for them what is possible, and what they too will find: that there is only one way out of suffering, and that is to keep moving forward. Step by slow, unsteady step. For now you must be kind to yourself, and remember you are not there yet, but you will be one day, sooner than you think — and you will always be able to look back on this and know that having survived this, you can and will survive anything, and will continue to thrive in the full brightness of your unique soul — a guiding light for others when they are lost as you once were. Today I hold this lamp for you — standing in the eye of the storm — reminding you that I see you. That you do not have to hide your hurt or the ugliness of your grief. I am calling your name, helping you remember the person you are, and where it is you are heading — and promising that when you get there, we will celebrate the light together. Happy. Whole. And much, much wiser.