The Iceberg, The Jacaranda, and the Phoenix

The tissues in his office are especially soft, probably the kind with lotion or something. I know this because I use a lot of them, as I gingerly weep my way through each appointment.

It’s exhausting work. And it is work. Weekly I show up and sit on his couch and allow myself to inch closer to the pain. He assures me that by being courageous enough to experience my feelings, they will eventually dissipate. That there isn’t an eternal supply of tears. I'm learning to trust him.

He’s taught me that the process of grieving has various stages: denial and shock, sadness and anger and, eventually, acceptance. He's shared that grieving is essentially what I'm doing. And that when one grieves, these stages don't necessarily happen in order...you go back and forth, in and out of them. Right now I'm mostly in the sad stage, but it's okay to be there right now.

He’s teaching me how to “sit with it”…”it” being that dark place within that contains all the abuse...instead of dancing away whenever I get too close, like a moth drawn to bright lights. Those bright lights have been my constant distraction from what lies beneath the surface as far back as I can remember. But "it" doesn't reach all the way to my spirit...that part of me has been sequestered for all but fleeting moments of my life. Facing the darkness has always been too painful, and I have been too afraid. This work requires a high level of personal honesty and trust.

If I could paint well, I’d create a scene. Many scenes, actually. Scenes that would depict the images I have in my mind right now about my life, the process of healing and growing that I’m engaged in, and my feelings.

One of my paintings would be of an iceberg, with only the very smallest tip peeking above the water. It’d be the kind of painting that’s like a slice of the ocean from the side, where you can see the immense mass that lies just beneath the surface, as well as above the water. This iceberg represents the pain and strife that I’ve done my doggone best to keep under water, ignore and pretend away all my life. I’m finally calling it forth, and with the help and guidance of my very awesome therapist, I am melting that huge hunk of ice. It won’t succeed in sinking this titanic blue soul.

Another scene would be my hand, palm up, and in the center of my palm would be a tree seed. Perhaps a flowering Jacaranda. Only instead of just seeing the seed coat, you’d be able to see inside, where the entire tree...in it’s flawless completeness, is already fully-formed. Every root, branch, twig and leaf, just waiting to emerge from it’s microscopic, glorious perfection…because the whole tree is contained inside that tiny little seed. And because all that is truly me is and always will be safely in tact. I am just still cutting my way to a clear path of congruency.

A third scene would be a phoenix, rising up from the ashes she has just emerged from. Whole, complete, new, powerful and magnificent. Having left behind the remains of her past self, she is a new creature, with unlimited possibilities before her. She gets to decide who she is and how she is…completely free of the labels, chains, and filters of her past.

These are some of the images that float through my mind as I go through this process. I fantasize about being enough of an artist to be able to capture them with paint. Oil or acrylic, specifically. I’ve never used oil before, and had only a feeble attempt at acrylic a year ago that was quite unsatisfying to be honest. But maybe someday I'll get there.

I also yearn to play out the feelings in my soul on the piano, or cello, or bass...though I've never touched a cello or bass in my life. I dream about capturing my thoughts in prose or poetry, or designing them into an amazing garden setting filled with beauty and the sound of running water. But then I awake, and the words flit away, and that garden is presently beyond my reach.

Still, I dream of finally setting myself free. Of being that phoenix, that Jacaranda, that pure, clear, freshly melted iceberg water. One of these days...

Grateful for:

1) my therapist…aka Head Coach on Team Blue. In addition to soft tissues, he’s got a gift for doing what he does. He gives me hope.
2) That I still have the chance to figure out what I plan to do with my one wild and precious life.
3) The souls who allow for me to flex, change, and grow, and support me through the process. Who don’t try to make me revert back to the Blue they knew before I started growing and evolving.