Please Hold My Hand

Thursday, April 28, 2016


Is dying completely alone something you would dread to have happen to you? I suspect many people would rank such an experience very high on their list of Things I Never Want To Go Through.

I had a really good session with my therapist on Tuesday. We have transitioned to a new format; I meet with him once a week for approximately two hours. I find I am enjoying this new format; I do not feel rushed now when I sit down and do my work. I reference this issue of dying alone because I focused on this particular topic while meeting with him on Tuesday.

We did some visualization work that allowed me to create a place I can imagine myself in each night when I am falling asleep. While co-creating this imaginal realm my therapist held my hand. It's just one of many aspects of his particular approach to working with clients that I enjoy. We all need the beauty of human touch.

While co-creating a beautiful scene I can slip into each night I told myself to remember his touch should it ever happen that I find myself dying alone. I feel that such a fate would be particularly difficult for me given how often I felt (and was) alone when I was a kid. Children should not be left unattended for long periods of time. I experienced such aloneness too often. Part of the grief I carried for so long developed in response to this sense of isolation.

I am reminded of one piece of beauty amidst the tragedy of the 1972 Andean airplane crash I wrote about earlier this week. Nando Parrado lost his mother and sister in that disaster. Nando was with his sister as she passed away. Amidst the life threatening circumstances that surrounded him in the remote Andes he was at least able to be present to his sister as she died. She had someone to hold her as she made that transition that we all will make one day.

I yearn for authentic human presence.

......

I generally feel fairly good these days. When I begin to feel I am perhaps pushing myself too hard I remind myself that it still has not been a full calendar year of time since I completely titrated off the SSRI that I took for approximately two years. Change takes time. And long lasting, deep change most definitely takes time.

I have recently been appreciating that this very blog represents a profound transformation in who I am. As I look back I see that my personal and professional values have significantly changed. I see that one of my implicit intentions in the journey I have documented here was to help educate others. If my blog has inspired or educated just one person then I can easily see it as a success. It is clear to me now that I want to educate people as part of my future work.

The Broken Village: The Five Year Old American Psyche

Wednesday, April 27, 2016


I have recently been reading a book by Francis Weller. The book is titled The Wild Edge of Sorrow. Weller is a psychotherapist who lives in California. I met Weller a few years ago at an annual event of the Minnesota Men's Conference. Chapter Three, entitled The Five Gates of Grief, recounts the following story:

"While I was in Malidoma's village, I met a young woman, about seventeen years old, with an extensive burn scar across her face. This did not seem to make her self-conscious; quite the contrary, she was ebullient, happy and outgoing. One day I asked Malidoma about the scar. He said, 'It was terrible. Her mother threw boiling water on her in a fit of rage.' I asked what happened after that. He said, 'The village responded immediately and let this young girl know that what happened had nothing to do with her, that her mother was wrong to do this, and that she was loved and cherished by the people.'

At that point I understood something critical about belonging and shame. Many of us have had experiences of violation and injury, not unlike this young woman. The difference between her experience and ours is that she had a village that immediately responded and dissipated the pain of a shameful act. In other words, what occurred to her remained superficial; it did not penetrate beyond the skin and become a part of her story (my emphasis). She carries a scar, but her soul is intact. Her village could see her value and helped her to remember her essence.

Without a village to reflect back to us that we are valued, these ruptures are interpreted in silence, in a vacuum, and the conclusion we often come to is 'I must have deserved this treatment' or 'I was somehow responsible for this.'"

I have been reflecting on the value of a village in my own life. I have been fortunate to never experience boiling water scarring my face. But I have experienced severe injury nonetheless. I experienced psychic injury due to what I have recounted elsewhere here in my blog. I have described such psychic injury using the words of the field of mental health, namely trauma. The "village" I had access to as a child was not all that functional. After my father was nearly murdered I internalized a lot of shame. Though I did not realize it I subconsciously thought that others in my neighborhood thought of me as "that kid whose father made such poor choices that he couldn't even keep himself alive." I thought of myself in that way. I didn't have a healthy village of my own to mirror back to me my own value.

Healing your own individual life can be quite a journey. I know the experience of this. Healing an entire community or nation is an even greater endeavor. I believe Weller touches upon some immense wisdom in his book about grief. We need a healthy 'village' to help create healthy adults. When such a community is lacking the long-term consequences can be extremely devastating.

...

I have been considering the village metaphor in a different way as well. I have thought about the relevance of this village metaphor to the current socio-political reality here in the United States. When I spend the smallest bit of time bearing witness to news from the unfolding 2016 presidential race I seriously want to throw up. I think much of America has lost its collective mind. I interpret the appeal so many find in Donald Trump as evidence of a collective American psyche that is deeply wounded...and deeply afraid.

The long row of televisions so common in some gyms these days was hard to look away from today. But I did avert my eyes when I saw CNN's coverage of Trump's so called foreign policy speech. I couldn't hear his speech but instead gathered the gist of what he was saying by the sound bites that would appear in text on the screen. Trump would have us believe that he will put American interests first. It would seem Trump is determined to appeal to the xenophobia and wounded feelings so visible in the American psyche today.

There is at least one big problem with Trump's perspective: it doesn't embrace the rest of the world as somehow being of equal value. The Trump doctrine (if you can call it that without bursting into laughter) would appear to have us believe that the United States is the world. I suppose Trump thinks it best to help Americans forget about the other five billion plus other people outside our borders. By demonizing or ignoring the rest of the world it would appear Trump has discovered a path to victory.

Have Americans become so paranoid, cruel and stupid that Trump might actually win in November?

...

I think I will be reflecting on the metaphor of the village for a while. Weller's writings make for great material to ponder.

"Appreciate the astonishing fact of being alive..."

Tuesday, April 26, 2016


Yesterday I wrote about a bolt of lightning that struck a tree very close to my home. The varied metaphors associated with lightning flickered through my mind as I sat and took up my keyboard.
One saying would have us believe that lightning never strikes twice in the same place. Regardless of whether that is true or not what I implicitly hear when I think of that saying is the notion of predictability. Some things that happen in life will never happen twice.  Opportunities we may imagine will come our way again might not. It seems best that we find a way to "appreciate the astonishing fact of being alive...every day...every single breath."

The above words are those of Nando Parrado taken from a documentary of the October, 1972 Andes plane crash. I watched this documentary yesterday. The plane crash thrust approximately four dozen people into the harsh conditions that prevail in the Andes Mountains; the plane crashed at an elevation of approximately 3,600 meters. It was miraculous that anyone survived the plane crash let alone the severe conditions to be found in that part of the world.

If there is something good that can come from trauma perhaps it is a newfound appreciation for all that we have in our lives. Trauma, quite simply, sucks. But on the other side of trauma (for those who survive whatever ordeal they endure) we can find a vividness of life that has perhaps previously eluded us. Through the painful darkness and horror of a period of trauma we can emerge, seemingly ironically, more aware and appreciative of the beauty that surrounds us and the possibilities within our reach. We can find ourselves appreciating every day and every breath.

I find myself now dancing on a fine line. I long ago completed the trauma resolution work in my own journey of conscious healing. I still experience sadness and grief regarding how what I went through impacted by early development. My "village" throughout an important phase of my childhood development was not all that functional. But I am still here! I have never survived a plane crash but I have survived a number of harrowing experiences. And I now find myself appreciating, more than ever before, what I can still do in my life. I appreciate the astonishing fact of being alive today, Tuesday, April 26, 2016.

If you knew that you could not fail what would you do?

When Lightning Strikes

Monday, April 25, 2016


Today I was awoken by a bolt of lightning that struck a tree just across the alley from where I live. The thunder that accompanied the lightning was virtually simultaneous to the lightning bolt itself. I virtually levitated above my bed when the thunder struck the house. It was very jarring to be awoken by such a fierce noise!

Lightning fascinates me for a number of reasons. One reason I like lightning is related to the fact that my initial academic training was in the field of atmospheric science. I grew up in a place (Texas) where each spring season regularly features very strong thunderstorms. I found that my pulse quickened on those days when thunder was seemingly tearing apart the sky above me.

One of my mentors, Dr. Pamela Colorado, connected with me via Facebook today after she noticed a posting I made in reference to the lightning of this morning. I was reminded of her interest in thunder-dreamers. I'll plan to write more about this topic later.

Hearing from my former professor reminded me of a dream I had many years ago. I had the dream while I was visiting my mother's family in Borken, Germany. I dreamt that I was struck by lightning. I made my way to a hospital and waited for medical care. I was somehow resilient or strong enough to survive being struck by lightning. I was charred black all over my body. In remembering that past dream today I am reminded of the reality that we create our own reality by the words we speak and the fantasies we entertain.

The lightning from this morning also reminded me of another snippet from my life related to lightning. Not so long ago I told my therapist that I was willing to do most anything to heal my life. I told him that I was even willing to be struck my lightning if that would produce a healed state of being. The lightning from this morning thus seems especially appropriate. Perhaps my full healing is now as close to me as the alley behind my home.

As for my own present day life I am currently doing outreach in the hope of finding a suitable employment opportunity in Hawai'i. I will be spending time actively imagining what I want in the coming weeks and months. At this time I hope to relocate to Hawai'i some time between August 1st and October 1st.

My heart is full of Hawai'i. I feel I belong in Hawai'i.

Tomorrow

Saturday, April 23, 2016


It's so nice to see that spring has finally won its annual battle with winter here in Minnesota. We shall get another swipe of chilly weather this coming week but the days of harsh, brittle winds blowing directly from the North Pole are over for another season.

I began reading a great book written by Francis Weller. The book takes up the dense topic of grief. I found it comforting to read what I have thus far. I actually met Weller a few years ago when I attended a Minnesota Men's Conference event in September, 2013.

I continue to look at opportunities in Hawai'i. I am pleased that I am following my heart. If you had no tomorrow to be alive for what would you do today?

That Moment When You Feel...Amazing

Sunday, April 17, 2016


Many positive developments took place in the last week. The biggest highlight was the decisive shift in the work I have been doing with my therapist during the last few years. We have shifted to meeting just once a week now. I am now focused on preventative care rather than actively plumbing the recesses of my earlier life history. In other words I am basically done with therapy now.

When I look back on past forays into the world of psychotherapy I feel I can describe those times in this way: my earlier efforts undertaken with the guidance of a mental health professional were something like an amateur gardener who, not appreciating the reality of roots, goes into his garden and clears out weeds without actually taking the roots of those weeds out. So what happens? The weeds inevitably grow back. I think the impact of trauma on our lives, both as individuals as well as in society at large, can all too easily persist if we don't apply the correct tools to heal trauma. We must address the roots of trauma if we wish to experience lasting healing.

It's so nice to be me now. I feel much safer and happier in my own skin. When I consider how early in my own life I experienced significant trauma an investment of three years of therapy is a very reasonable investment to make to heal the harm I experienced.

This could be a much better world if we all would take the journey of healing our individual and collective wounds.

Writing To My (Still Living) Parents

Thursday, April 14, 2016


Spring is finally breaking through here in Minnesota. The lakes in the southern part of Minnesota iced out weeks ago. The buds on countless trees and bushes are bursting forth. Whatever hesitation the plants of the area had in blooming out will surely disappear over the course of the next several days as temperatures flirt with 70F. I feel relieved that winter is melting away. I have been feeling ready for a new season for several weeks now.

I am still going to therapy. Sometimes I feel it's a bit boring. Other times I still find it a great source of insight. I still feel some sadness within my heart. I still have grief work that I am doing. But the weight of what I feel continues to lighten up day after day, week after week, month after month. A person cannot live in grief indefinitely. Eventually we must conclude mourning that which we have lost and move forward.

I wrote a letter to my father this morning. I am not planning on sending it to him. I will probably reference this writing when I see my therapist this evening. I expressed some thoughts and feelings I have never been allowed the opportunity to express within my family of origin. My thoughts focused on that chain of manhood that stretches back to the faint reaches of ancient history. I wrote about my thoughts about what may or may not have happened when my father was nearly murdered. I do not know how my father's father dealt with the news of one of his own children being nearly murdered...and by his own wife no less. Based on what I know of my grandfather I would guess he was not emotionally available to my own father in a way that would have been of value to my father. It's difficult to know what exactly happened. My paternal grandfather has been dead twenty-five years now. And my own father has long followed a policy of sharing as little information as possible. I suspect that whatever response my grandfather made to my own father at the time of his near death only further compounded my father's suffering. I find it difficult not to believe that my grandfather would have been aloof.

The way men raise their sons is so important. When men fail their sons the consequences can be so important. Those consequences can be very long lasting too. It seems trauma that goes unhealed in one generation virtually automatically gets inherited by the next generation.

I decided to take a stand in my own family. I decided to say "Enough" several years ago and no longer participate in the culture of silence that caused me so much pain, confusion and anxiety. The cost of my decision to no longer participate has been immense. But the cost of going along with the way my paternal family of origin deals with deep pain and dysfunction was even greater. I made a painful choice. I am still saddened by what I have lost. But I also take comfort in the choice I made. I am now the healthiest person I have ever been in my life.

Painful, difficult decisions can be so arduous. But they are a part of life.

I am looking forward to seeing the green returning to the world when I drive to see my therapist this evening.

When There Is Nothing Left To Do...But Live

Sunday, April 3, 2016


I have been at this blog writing journey for a bit of time now. It's been nearly three years since I started writing about my journey of recovery from trauma. I never expected I would be doing this.

I haven't written much in recent months. Quite honestly there is very little for me to say compared to what I had to share in the first months I was writing. I still visit with my therapist. I still have days when I feel deep sadness. I still have days when memories of the horrible time that was June, 2013 float through my conscious awareness. But I don't experience myself being triggered into a state of deep upset as I once experienced all too often. I have managed to excise myself from the situations that contributed to my immense distress.

It's been a bit strange for me to realize that the stressful journey out of that dark time was so anxiety provoking in itself on many occasions that it took me quite a while to adjust to feeling...normal. Living in an environment that creates minimal stress was not something I had the fortune of enjoying rather quickly after my life essentially fell apart in June, 2013. It took me a while to gradually move into a much healthier way of living. But here I am!

Spring is coming to Minnesota. It's the last spring that I want to witness here. As the buds on the trees and bushes swell and blossom forth I feel myself breathing a deep...an incredibly deep...sigh of relief. That storm of pain, shock and chaos I was caught in for so long is long gone now. I now experience the quiet after the storm.

The relative spaciousness within my own psyche is something still quite unusual for me. I had carried around unhealed grief and sorrow for so long that the openness within me is still something novel for me...despite the passage of thirty-three months. Deep trauma can take a long time to heal. But it can indeed be healed. My life journey is proof of that truth.

I want to live in a way I never have before!