Looking back...moving forwards

With Christmas just over 5 weeks away and 2015 soon drawing to an end, I have been reflecting on some of the events of the past year. I can say without hesitation that this has been one of the most challenging and life-altering periods of my entire existence. I hope that with time and distance I may be able to see the blessings that have arrived in the wake of so much loss and sadness, but I am not there yet. Like the survivor of an unexpected natural disaster, I find myself standing in an altered landscape surveying the destruction of what was and wondering if I dare to trust the ground beneath my feet. For this reason, I am not going to write about my experiences in any detail until I have gained the clarity and sense of perspective that only comes with time and distance. Instead, I would like to share some of the things that have helped me get through the lowest points of my journey. I do this in the hope that those who have been through something similar may gain some comfort and inspiration.

At the beginning of the year, a close friend gave me a copy of a book called ‘Broken Open’ by Elizabeth Lesser. At the time, I was so preoccupied with what was going on in my immediate environment that I had little time or inclination for reading; I was still coping with the painful realisation that my mother was losing her battle with cancer and that my marriage was over. But, in fact it turned out to be the one of the most valuable and timely gifts I have ever been given. In the intense weeks following my mother’s passing, this book soon became my favourite bedtime companion, my inspiration and, at times even my saviour. It is no exaggeration to say that reading it has helped keep me grounded and stable during the most arduous moments of the past year. For this reason alone, I would not hesitate to recommend it to anyone who has suffered a major loss.

In essence, ‘Broken Open’ is of a series of beautifully written essays that document the many ways that we may be broken open by events such as the death of a loved one, divorce and illness – and how we can emerge from these life-changing events, altered but strengthened.  It suggests ways that this involuntary breaking open can actually be beneficial if we allow ourselves to embrace rather than resist the process, so that we emerge from the ruins as stronger, wiser and more compassionate individuals. 

A central theme of the book is something the author refers to as the ‘Phoenix Process’ – in honour of the mythical phoenix, which is said to burn itself to nothing and then arise transformed from the ashes. She speaks with unflinching honesty about her own major Phoenix Process, which arose from the demise of her marriage and how this led to the birth of a self that had lain dormant for years. There is a paragraph in this section that particularly struck me. It reads as follows:

"I have seen people crumble in times of trouble, lose their spirit and never fully recover. I have also seen others protect themselves fiercely from any kind of change, until they are living a half- life, safe yet stunted. But I have also seen another way to deal with change or a painful loss. I call this other way the Phoenix Process - named for the mythical phoenix bird that remains awake through the fires of change, rises from the ashes of death, and is reborn into his most vibrant and enlightened self."

Reading this served to remind me that we always have a choice as to how we respond to life’s trials and tribulations: we can either allow them to break us or we can use the suffering they cause as fuel for self-development. But one of the most timely and useful lessons I gained from reading this inspirational book is the idea that you have to lean into your grief rather than seek to avoid it. There is one particular paragraph that neatly encapsulates this concept, which reads as follows:

"If we do not suffer a loss all the way to the end, it will wait for us. It won't just dissipate and disappear. Rather, it will fester and we will experience its sorrow later, in stranger forms."

This caught my attention because it made me see that I had become so adept at containing my emotions that I could no longer feel anything much at all. I was so busy trying to mask my grief so I could function like a ‘normal’ person that I had scarcely noticed the gradual numbness enveloping me, like a dark and very dense fog.  Reading this made me realise that unless I gave myself permission to really feel my pain, I was going to end up reliant on sleeping pills or antidepressants - for a very long time. This may sound simple enough but in practice, allowing yourself to feel following the loss of a loved one can seem much like jumping backwards off a cliff without a harness. This process requires trust and courage in equal measure: courage to face the sadness and allow it to flow through you, and trust that the painful feelings will eventually subside. I think of this as something akin to stepping into a metaphorical ring of fire – where you just surrender to the process and allow it to burn away and purify the painful emotions. I now know that allowing such feelings to come up helps them to subside more quickly than trying to block them, which actually takes a phenomenal amount of energy! And it definitely works better than trying to force them into submission with all sorts of diversionary tactics.

I will end by saying that although this year has been one of intense and difficult changes – leaving me feeling at times like the victim of a series of very bad car accidents! – I am aware of having gained something valuable from this experience. This is because from time to time, I have been able to gain just enough distance from all the turmoil and drama to appreciate my own remarkable resilience. At such moments, I have been filled with a great sense of reverence and respect for myself. For what these hardest of times have shown me is that even though I may sometimes doubt myself and even though I may still stumble and fall, I will never allow myself to be defeated – no matter what life may throw at me. 


Copyright © Claire-Louise Osorio, 2015