Healing Happens

Imagine the following~~

A smile slowly spreads across the face of a woman whose abuse began as a toddler as she realizes, at last, that she is precious.

Two individuals, followers of religions with conflicting creeds, each find release into a similar experience of peace or ecstatic union.
     
An atheist contemplates a color-composite image of the NGC 300 galaxy, seven million light years from Earth, and is spontaneously lifted from a depression that had convinced him of life’s futility.

A young mother, rushing through a chaotic morning, stops at a red light. The silhouette of an old cottonwood backlit by the morning sun breaks through her agitation and peace fills her.

These are only a few examples of a phenomenon that most of us have experienced. One moment, life is struggle. The next we are liberated and, even if it lasts for only a moment, we are changed.

           

As a psychotherapist, I’ve long been fascinated by the question of how such healing occurs. When I was new to this work, I thought it took great effort and studied my craft hard, believing the lion’s share of change was up to me. Now, 30~plus years later, I know otherwise. I have learned, quite simply, that healing happens. 

Whether it’s recovering from trauma or our human proclivity to become bogged down in the particulars of our lives, grace is always here, waiting to assist us. The same force that set the NGC 300 galaxy into motion pulses through every molecule of these stardust bodies of ours and fuels each action we take. It is ever present, always available, so close that it often breaks through on its own, suddenly, gloriously. Other times, we must clear a path.

           

When someone comes to me for therapy, the way has already been opened. Grace has been welcomed in and is free to move. Our task is to not impede the flow, opening again and again as we allow healing to unfold and marvel as layers fall away.

           

Life is often painful, with wounds coming in various flavors and from many sources. Self~protection is a normal response. But shields developed for protection become thicker with each subsequent hurt, until they, too, do us harm by preventing a full experience of living. Or perhaps our wound is of the rushing too fast to notice variety, and busyness itself is our shield. There seem any number of ways we can restrict the flow. Regardless of the particulars, life’s luster is diminished or seems always just beyond our reach.

           

There is another choice. We can open to grace and allow it to move through us, letting it dissolve our world~hardened edges. We can willingly place ourselves into hands larger and more capable than our own,  trusting the guidance and the pacing of the healing that will come. We can, in a word, surrender.

           

We are like infinitesimally small icy particles enveloped by a warm and luminous sea. Our task is to allow both the buoying currents and the crashing waves to melt us. Then we will know that luminosity is all.

           

Yes, healing happens. And on a weekend dedicated to the celebration of gratitude, that’s something to be thankful for.

So let us be thankful, my friends. And while we're at it, let's melt a bit more, too!

Love and gratitude for your presence in this world,

Loanne Marie

And for a view of the NGC 300, click here.

Welcoming the Light

As a psychotherapist who has somehow managed to develop a specialty in trauma work~~no conscious decision, this~~I routinely hear stories of sexual harm, beatings, witnessed murders, accidents and disasters, and wounding words. I have become skilled in listening intently without absorbing the other’s pain. I am certainly moved by the stories I hear~~ often deeply so~~but seldom do I become confused about whose trauma it is. I don’t make another’s pain my own.

The ability to be fully present yet unbound by the suffering before me is sometimes tricky, but after many years, I find it most often manageable. It is also essential. Folks heal, not through my collapsing into their pain, but by having a steady someone to walk with into the darkest places of their lives. They need me to be quite clear about this distinction. And as I said, I usually am.

However, occasionally someone comes into my life whose trauma goes well beyond the average soul piercings. These are folks who have sustained abuse of mammoth proportions. The world in which they were reared was so pervasively perverse that it left damage of a particularly all-inclusive kind. Their spirits seem shattered and their sense of self tenuous. Disorganization of this degree often leaves the simplest coping skills just out of reach.

And my own coping strategies can be overwhelmed through witnessing such devastation. I’m pushed to look into the face of a horror that is far easier not to see. Such experiences require me to use~~and to welcome~~all my resources simply to retain, and in some cases regain, my equilibrium.

After a session this week in which secrets were shared and the depth of the struggle to function laid bare, I found a heaviness had crept into my spirit. I recognized what was happening to me, but couldn’t seem to shake it. And a busy evening ahead was not going to allow me the time I needed to work it through, to let it go. Or so I thought.

As often happens, I was given exactly what I needed, this time in the form of a poem that came my way early that night~~Check, by James Stephens. The rich imagery describes a growing darkness that is not, however, able to obliterate the light of a single candle. I had my metaphor.

With that image, my focus changed. I remembered my own spark and chose to expand its brightness once again. I welcomed the larger Light into my own in order to dispel a darkness that, though cast on another’s flame many years ago, sought now to cover mine as well. And my candle grew bolder, more robust. I felt myself revivify and slough off the sludge I had unwittingly absorbed.

Long ago I realized I would never comprehend why some folks experience such grave misfortune while others do not. I also accepted that there is truly no reason I should understand, given that I am a soul immersed within her own phase of this journey. However, while such large issues are beyond me, I do know that our task is to align ourselves with the Light at each juncture. And I trust that when we do, we give that Radiance a greater access to our psyches and to our world.

Professionally, my job is to welcome the Light into the room. The experience I’ve gained over the years, the specific techniques I’ve acquired, and my intuitive sensibilities can all be seen as methods for enlarging the opening for Light through increasing the capacity to receive it. And when that Beam touches and illuminates the darkness, shattered spirits begin to heal, reuniting with that enduring essence within which was never harmed to begin with, just covered temporarily by muck.

The Light is there waiting, always. Our job is simply to open to it. Such is my belief and my experience.

Namaste!

Loanne Marie

Mom Quilt

Mothers. We all have them. Some are wonderful, archetypal in their ability to authentically and richly love and nurture. Others are harsh, rejecting, abandoning, damaging. However, most seem to be a swirling mix of positive and negative aspects~~as are we all~~though, with a decided slant toward the good.

As a psychotherapist, I have been given a unique view into the lives of children of all ages, and have heard many stories of various mother-child dyads. I have also been given the opportunity to see the ways in which folks internalize aspects of their mothers~~for good or ill~~and have witnessed the gradual resolution of destructive mother wounds. And I have seen this healing advanced through attention to, not only the mothers of one’s immediate family, but the other mothers encountered in life. For you see, most of us have known several mothers and, if we’re wise, will continue to collect new ones throughout our lives.

Mothering is not something that is confined to the women who birthed us way back when or to those who raised us. Mothering, is not a biological or a sociological fact. It is a way of relating offered by the women who grace our lives with their presence.

A relevant concept from traditional psychology is that of the maternal introject. This term refers to the process by which children internalize the qualities of their mothers. While the infant and toddler require the mother’s presence to feel safe, for example, by the time a child has made repeated forays into the world outside the family, she or he has hopefully learned to carry that sense of safety within them. This internalized mother allows them to gradually expand their world and gain a sense of autonomy.

The difficulty comes, of course, when the child’s mother is not safe, or not consistently so. But here is where that incredible resilience of the human spirit comes in~~and lucky that it does. Children who were given a mother who was inconsistent, confusing, or harmful often find positive mother figures, and instinctively use them to modify that original defective model. They internalize aspects of these mothers as well. Being able to draw on several maternal figures is important for all children, since it furthers the awareness that safety and support are not confined to one person or one relationship. However, for children who were abused, neglected, or otherwise given short shrift in the mother department, this task is essential.

The work of rounding out or healing a less than totally healthy maternal introject is an important aspect of maturation for most of us. We must make peace with the internal mother mix~~heal the aspects that were harmful, nurture those that remain beneficial~~all so that we can mother well, whether that mothering be of ourselves, our offspring, or within any important relationship of our lives.

The metaphor which seems to capture this process, and our task within it, is the Mom Quilt. To explain this image, though, a quick detour into the world of quilting is needed. There is a form known as the Crazy Quilt, which consists of many pieces of fabric of various colors, patterns, shapes and sizes. The skill of the esthetically inclined quilter lies in the placing of these disparate swatches, one against the other, to form a whole that is pleasing to the eye.  A given fabric may not be particularly appealing in itself and would not be chosen for an entire spread. However, together with the others, in just the right placement and unified within the perfect border, it works beautifully. An added delight is that such a quilt is utterly unique, a one-of-a-kind creation.

This seems a particularly appropriate symbol for the task set for each of us~~the crafting of our very own Mother Quilt. The mother of our birth will certainly be included. If we were blessed with a loving and supportive biological mother, her fabric may be large and central to the entire quilt. If aspects of her influence were harmful, our task may be to cut her down to size, including her in a way that reflects her importance in our development, but no longer overpowers the entire quilt.

Other women~~aunts and grandmothers, supportive teachers, mothers of friends, fictional, religious or historic figures, professional or personal mentors, best girlfriends, and others~~have their own swatches worthy of inclusion. The size, shape, and placement of each will reflect the impact of that woman on our lives. And as we lend strength and love to others~~as well as to our own sweet souls~~these pieces, too, become part of the whole.

Now unlike a real life Crazy Quilt, our Mom Quilt will continue to be modified as the years go by. New women will come into our lives bringing with them new fabric, while others may decrease in importance as their swatches shrink or change position. Through the process of grieving when our mothers die, we may come to see them and their place in our lives differently, with a resultant alteration in their allotted portion of the whole. Indeed, our Mom Quilt must be a work in progress. With a light and flexible hand, we allow this creation to mature with us, while remaining open to new mothering figures who come our way. In just this manner, our quilt will provide warmth throughout a lifetime.

Yes, a Mom Quilt is a dynamic thing indeed. And utterly unique. We are the ones who determine its layout, who step back periodically to gauge the overall effect, who decide on needed changes. One nagging legacy of deficient mothering is that the child may unconsciously seek out ‘momming’ of the same defective style as the original. The Mom Quilt image can be used to clarify this process by encouraging us to search out new colors, shapes, and textures and to play around with positioning.

So on this Mother’s Day, here’s to every woman out there who mothers, nurtures, and supports others in the way best suited to their own talents and life situations. You are earning your place in the Mom Quilts of others!

And to those who are grieving the loss of a mother, or are struggling with the emotional harm inflicted by a harsh or distant one, I know that the classic Hallmark card doesn't accurately reflect your feelings on this day. Perhaps the metaphor of the Mother Quilt will soften the pain as it encourages you to step back and gain a richer perspective. This hurt will not always be so piercing.

On a personal note, to my own mother who crossed over nearly 12 years ago, your position in my quilt remains front and center. Your swatch, bright with the occasional darker swirl, continues to enrich my life as I discover aspects of your mothering I simply could not see while you walked this earth. I love you.

Blessings this day to all mothers~~and to all their children,

Loanne Marie

Expanding Out Of Fear

Grace* sat immobilized on the couch across from me--facial muscles tight, head bent, shoulders hunched, torso caved inward. While thus far in session, she’d moved through a variety of emotions, Grace recognized instinctively what was at the core. Fear. Grace was quite literally--quite visually--collapsed into fear.

What was most upsetting to her on this particular morning was that she could no longer access the spiritual awareness she’d found in our last meeting. The strength, comfort, and courage she’d felt then seemed lost to her now. “I know my spirit is still there, but I can’t feel it,” she cried in frustration. Grace’s fear had collapsed her into a place so small, so tight, that she could access no other component of her rich being.

Fear does this. It acts as a type of microscopic lens through which we narrow our awareness--and then mistake this limited view for reality. However, just as Grace realized intuitively, whether perceived or not, Spirit remains untouched. Spirit abides.

So, what can be done about this all-too-human capacity to zoom into a small, fear-based perspective? We can cultivate the ability to zoom out, to access a larger and ultimately more accurate view. We can to learn to see with our spirit eyes.

Although Grace began the session by articulating what was missing, she found herself fleshing out an image of her full rich spirit. She envisioned it surrounding her--whole, healthy, vibrant--enveloping both her personality and the small cavity into which fear had pulled her. This image grew roots, took form. Grace closed her eyes and chose to subscribe to a fuller realization of all that she was.

And she allowed me to witness this transformation and to share it with you. First, she became still. Then her spine straightened, her shoulders rose and rolled back allowing her shoulder blades to slip down and support the rising of her chest, the opening of her heart. Grace’s jaw unclenched, her facial muscles relaxed. Her breath deepened. Grace grew radiant, exuding calmness and a profound strength. All of this occurred in a matter of seconds. The metamorphosis was stunning!

Grace had found a way to expand her consciousness beyond the tight box of fear. Yes, she could still acknowledge the difficulties ahead of her, but she now viewed these from a perspective of wholeness.

No matter how powerful it seems, fear is just an emotion. This emotion can paralyze, act as an impetus to explode into rage, or morph into any of the other emotions we find so difficult. Each, however, still contains that kernel of fear at its heart. When we become locked within our fear, we cannot experience all that we are, the totality of who we are. Nor can we fully comprehend the realities of our life. We can pretend, we can try, but who are we fooling? We’re terrified and that’s that. We have shrunken our awareness and disallowed ourselves a larger and truer vision.

Grace’s experience was so pronounced that it has remained with me. All I have to do is recall the visual and energetic shift she demonstrated, and I know the path beyond fear and can articulate it better for myself and others. We won’t all exhibit Grace’s visceral response as our own shifts occur, but we all do have the capacity to alter our perspective, to transcend the tight trap of fear, and to move into a larger, truer view of ourselves and of life itself.

Next time you’re ambushed by fear, or any other emotion that lays claim to your awareness and forces an inaccurate tunnel vision, try the following:

~~First, acknowledge the trap. Experience the contours of the limiting emotion. Know the edges within which you are confined, your tight, cramped awareness. Although it may be tempting to hurry through this step, don’t. We must know our prisons to walk free of them. (More on this idea in a future essay.)

~~Next, envision your larger Self--all the parts of you that lie beyond this limiting emotion. See that Self streaming out beyond the dark space of your fear, the confines of your body, the limits of your personality.

~~Allow yourself the belief that you can choose your perspective. Maybe not always, maybe not totally. Adopt this belief anyway.

~~Now, CHOOSE. Allow yourself to expand out of the oh-so-tight confines of your fear. Move into this larger, fuller experience of yourself. Right here. Right now.

~~Breathe into this choice. Grow into it. Experience it. Permit yourself to fully inhabit this more complete realization of who you are. And allow Spirit to fully inhabit you.

While our spirits can still shine while being aware of a spot of fear, we simply cannot be simultaneously consumed by fear and fully alive to the Light. To identify with your larger Self does not mean you must disown the fear or deny the challenges facing you. But you can hold your fear within a larger perspective that will bring with it additional resources which you cannot touch when ensnared by fear. The fear may still be there, but it will be put into context.

As you can imagine, Grace will need to cultivate and nurture the ability she discovered so clearly that day. She will need to choose her perspective again and again, as we all do. With practice, however, the path from fear to a richer, fuller identity becomes more easily trod. Luckily, walking this trail frequently means we won’t need to bushwhack every time!

May you subscribe to a truer vision of who you are, and may that process allow you to transcend your fear today and always.

I’d love to hear about your experiences.

Namaste!

Loanne Marie

For more on the topics discussed here, I refer you to two books detailed in the Resources section of my website, in-awe.net: the delightful, wordless book, Zoom, by Istvan Banyai, and Pema Choedren’s book, When Things Fall Apart.

*In this and all my blog entries, whenever I refer to an experience with a specific person, know that the individual has been consulted and has given written permission for me to publish my thoughts about their journey. Know, too, that I have changed identifying information, given the person the opportunity to review my entry before posting, and offered the individual the pleasure of choosing her or his very own blog name.

Angels Sing

One of the misconceptions people frequently have about psychotherapists is that our work is about witnessing emotional pain. This is why many folks can’t quite understand why someone would choose such a profession. Conceived of this way, I can’t say I blame them!

While bearing witness to pain is integral to the work, it does not embody its essence for me. Rather, being a psychotherapist is about witnessing transformation--again and again--within a session, cumulatively over a treatment episode, and throughout a full career. Now to be given a front row seat at that type of event is another matter entirely!

I first began my work in 1979, when a stint as a camp counselor brought experiences I hadn’t expected. Along with the privileged French-Canadian girls who were sent to the States for a 2-week camp to improve their English skills, there were several girls in state custody; their harried caseworkers had dropped them at the camp for the whole summer due to the dearth of available foster homes. While I enjoyed all the girls, I was most drawn to those whose young lives had been filled with abuse, betrayal, and abandonment, not because of their pain, but because of the gift they offered me--the opportunity to help ease it.

Nearly 29 years have passed since those mistreated girls offered me a glimpse of my vocation. I finished my undergraduate education and was hired to work with street kids who were now doing for money what family members had demanded for free. I completed my Master’s degree and worked in mental health centers, often with trauma survivors. Eventually, I moved into private practice. As of this writing, I have had the honor of witnessing the transformation of literally thousands of people; I recognize that the lives of even more have been altered, as the ripples of individual change move out and expand exponentially.

Folks arrive at my office with a variety of presenting difficulties, but though the issues we address vary, the essence of our work is essentially the same: transformation. I sit with dear souls hour after hour, day after day, as they share with me the challenges of their lives. And I’m invited into those moments, those glorious moments, when the heavens open and an individual is bathed in light sitting on that couch right in front of me. And something shifts. Something heals. Something is transformed. I hear Angels sing.

I speak in metaphors, of course. I am neither clairvoyant nor psychotic. But I do feel something shift, sense energy dancing in the room, respond to a brightening of the vibration. It is only through these metaphors--Angels singing, heavens opening--that I can hope to capture the experience.

But there is more. The Angels are not merely a resonant chorus of applause. They are not passive. I have known their influence, time and time again, in the synchronicity of events that together weave an opportunity for metamorphosis--in a siren from a passing ambulance that plunges someone into an ultimately curative catharsis; in words that escape my mouth before I know I’m thinking them, thus opening a fresh avenue of exploration or helping to dislodge an emotional logjam; in the appearance of a squirrel on the windowsill that suggests a salient metaphor.

Yes, I believe that my clients and I are guided each step of the way. I realize I may be wrong, that we may only be guided from within. But that, too, strikes me as miraculous--a dream that launches someone into new and ultimately transformative territory; an intuitive sense of just the intervention that is needed at a particular moment; a client’s random thought that, when voiced, speaks volumes. I’ve come to love those times when someone prefaces a statement with words such as “I don’t know why I thought of this, but...” or “You’re going to think I’m crazy for saying this, but...” I’ve learned that, most often, preambles such as these are my cue that pearls are about to materialize in the room. True, these pearls are not always polished--that’s our work--but they are pearls nonetheless. And they are bestowed so freely!

Ultimately, it makes little difference to me whether Angels and their gifts exist externally or if these images are simply a way to conceptualize the inner workings of our own souls. Regardless, the transformation is real, and these metaphors speak to my psyche in a such a way that I sit up and take notice.

Of course, full-blown transformation does not occur in each session, and sometimes folks remain stuck for quite some time. But with eyes that can appreciate the ripening process of profound work, the evidence of a budding metamorphosis can be seen even in stuckness, as a seeming paralysis often precedes gigantic leaps forward.

So, I guess it’s obvious by now how blest I feel to be granted such soulful employment. Witnessing pain is simply part of the process and makes the ultimate transcendence all the sweeter.

I have, indeed, been given an amazing vantage point in this life. The lessons are many. Proof of the resilience of the human spirit. Trust that no matter how bleak or despairing are the realities of a life, wondrous healing is possible. Awareness that our individual responses can effect others, as well as the tenor of the world around us. Faith that assistance of just the right sort is available, if we can open to receive it.

May we each know these truths as we face our own abyss. We may not see our path or know where our travels through this dark valley will carry us. But if we can remember that we are guided and will not only survive, but emerge with our essence more fully felt, then our journey will be infinitely easier. When less energy is drained off in fear or resistance, more is available for the work of transformation.

May these truths resonate for you, not just intellectually, but from within the very marrow of your bones. And may you hear your own Angels sing this day!

Loanne Marie

Doorways

I spent an hour recently with a woman, dear soul, grappling with one of those major life shifts that seems to hit on all levels at once. Rose* has managed nearly two decades of sobriety with the help of AA, despite never having felt a connection to the Higher Power so central to the AA philosophy; for many years, the program itself served that function. This current crisis, however, seems to be pushing Rose to wrestle more directly with this dimension of her life.

In exploring her sense of Spirit, Rose reflexively used the term ‘Him’ to refer to God. As we talked further, she realized she had accepted, without question, the idea of God as a father figure. Rose’s own father was a violent and neglectful alcoholic, and her husband of many years is emotionally distant and, when pressed, emotionally abusive as well. Suddenly, Rose’s difficulty relating to a God she envisioned in male form became quite clear!

However, Rose had a close relationship with her mother. She regularly experienced her mother’s love and concern, and still grieves her death several years later. Rose also has an absolute certainty that her mother is in heaven; this was, in fact, the only reason she had for her belief in God--if her mother’s spirit lives on and is ‘someplace else’, there must be a God.

And so, Rose began to open to the idea of imagining God in a different form--this God who is far beyond any conceptualization of the human mind. Sitting across from her that day, with the room aglow in lamplight, Rose gave me several gifts.

To be sure, she gave me that dazzling gift of witnessing transformation, a topic worthy of an in-the-works future essay! (see Angels Sing)  But she also gave me a metaphor and a deeper understanding of our spiritual process. On that chilly January evening, I felt a doorway come into existence. That doorway appeared as Rose’s experience of nurturing and connection joined with her willingness to expand her image of God.

This metaphor has deepened for me these last few weeks. I’ve become clear that we do best to look for our doorway within the stuff of our own lives. The door we seek cannot easily be found by doing what works for others, or by following rules stemming from another time and culture. The stories of others and the many rich spiritual traditions can certainly act as guideposts, but if we want an immediacy to our spiritual experience--a vibrancy, an aliveness--then surely our doorway cannot be an abstraction. It must arise from what we know, from who we are. It must fit our lives.

As this metaphor enticed me further, I realized it likely that this doorway had not ‘come into existence’, as I had first imagined, but had simply been recognized. It seemed that various factors in Rose’s experience had aligned in such a way at that particular moment that she--and I--could perceive a doorway that had been there all along.

I also saw that we each have, not one, but several doorways that are ours, that appear to us at important junctures in our lives or arise from the stuff of our daily humdrum existence, doorways that are just waiting for us to step through. While the opportunities that appear in times of strife may certainly be more flashy, I suspect it’s the smaller, more commonplace doorways that are both more plentiful and most often missed--the chance to be kind or to act with grace, the choice to work with an inconvenience rather than fight it. There have been times in my meditations when I have chosen, finally, to welcome Spirit into a particular emotion or a continuously nagging thought rather than continue to stubbornly return to my technique--and through that portal I slip into a sweetness or depth of experience I nearly missed.

Now as I thought further, I realized this metaphor has some limitations, as do most creations of the mind. Doorway implies a wall, does it not? A partition that separates ‘here’ from ‘there’? My reading of spiritual texts and commentaries, as well as my own meager personal experience, remind me that such a separation is illusory, that the stuff of Spirit is everywhere and that our task on earth is simply (hah!) to recognize it, to live within it.

But what metaphor might work better? I can’t find one yet, though I’ll keep ya posted! For now, I’ll stick with the image of the doorway Rose highlighted for me that day, recognizing that such doorways are my path to realizing there is no path, that ‘here’ and ‘there’ are just constructs of my earth-bound brain. With that caveat, I nestle into the metaphor. I like it. I trust it.

Rose came back the next week with her feet firmly beneath her once more. The depression that had been weighing her down for weeks had begun to lift. She was taking action again, doing simply what was hers to do and trusting more fully that that, indeed, was enough.

Rose had regularly read the books of daily affirmations tailored to folks in recovery. She shared, though, that she had now chosen one comprised of reflections by and specifically for women. And while she was not yet talking to God, Rose was conversing with her mother who was with God. “And that’s a good start!” she declared. A good start, indeed!

For Rose, a male image of God had simply not worked. The current doorway provides Rose an opportunity to refine her conceptualization of the Sacred and explore its connection to her heart, her soul, her life. A path has appeared and Rose has taken her first tentative steps along it. I do not know where this trail will lead her. However, I feel certain that as she senses her way forward, moment by moment, Rose will walk into a richness of experience that is there waiting, whispering her name.

There are doorways aplenty, throughout our days and our nights, especially, it would seem, in our nights. If I can remember this metaphor, I will be more likely to reach out amid my own darkness, fingers sensing that slight give that hints of a path forward--and take it. And I will trust even more deeply than I do now the wisdom and inevitable success of a client’s search for her or his own doorways.

May we each listen and find amid the substance of our own lives the doorways that are waiting for us, those that whisper our name.

Loanne Marie


*In this and all my blog entries, whenever I refer to an experience with a specific person, know that the individual has been consulted and has given written permission for me to publish my thoughts about their journey. Know, too, that I have changed identifying information, given the person the opportunity to review my entry before posting, and offered the individual the pleasure of choosing her or his very own blog name.