Five years ago my guts exploded. I had a cyst on my intestine that burst, allowing grossness to flow into my abdominal cavity. I had an extensive surgery and spent 10 days in the hospital. Several times the surgeon told me that he didn't know how I was alive.
When I returned home, I spent another eight weeks in a recliner because I could barely move. The pain in my abdomen was excruciating. Every movement felt like I was being punched in the stomach.
Two weeks after I got home they removed the staples. All 22 of them. They were in various stages of healing and it felt a little cruel to be yanking them out, causing me more pain. The surgeon assured me that it was healed enough to stay together on it's own. He could see that the healing had begun. A scar was forming.
Where there is a scar, it's a reminder that an injury occurred but has healed. But how do you know when an emotional wound has healed?
A couple weeks ago I wrote a post about my sexual assaults, and many people responded with "now your healing can begin" or "I hope this brings you healing". Honestly, the healing began long ago. I wouldn't have been able to write that post if it hadn't. Emotional healing happens much like physical healing: in phases. It takes time. There are levels. God cares too much to force it all at once.
My first level of healing began when I was placed in foster care. Just being in a place where I was no longer being harmed allowed my emotions to begin to reset. I was still hyper-vigilant, but I was finally in a place where I could just be a kid. It wasn't always easy. I had nightmares and was easily frightened. I had memories that I didn't know what to do with, so I learned how to compartmentalize them, to tuck them away in their individual boxes to deal with at a later time.
For several years I left those boxes untouched, stowed away like Christmas decorations in the attic. Occasionally memories would pop up and I would stash them back into their boxes, unwilling or unable to deal with them at that time. Their appearance stirred up too many emotions, too much pain.
The next level of healing came during my time in Youth With A Mission. When I was there I learned so much about God's character. That, coupled with an accepting environment, allowed some more of the layers to be pulled back and dealt with. This was where I really began to work through forgiving my biological father. He had much to be forgiven! As I struggled through some of these, God began to revel to me where He was during those times, holding me in His arms.
In YWAM I became friends with guys for the first time in my life. It was a safe environment, with low expectations. It was more a commune of brothers and sisters than an episode of The Bachelor, which allowed me to unpack some of the boxes of sexual assault. This was sometimes a raw experience.
My husband was one of those guy friends. He tells the story of how a group of us were playing LIFE. One of the outdated parts of LIFE is where it forced you to get married. Well, when it was my time to get married I made the male peg ride in the far backseat of my car. This was very disturbing for him. He had his first glimpse into what my life was like, but wasn't bad enough to chase him off. Our 30th anniversary is in a few weeks. During those years there have been pockets of healing. Again, not easy times. I often felt like I was ripping off scabs. Healing meant finding my voice. It meant standing up for myself. It meant knowing that whatever lay ahead of me had to be better than what I was leaving behind. It meant that my husband and I weren't always in sync. It hurt.
For 10 years we were heavily involved in a local church. I, we, experienced much healing there. However, a lot of additional injury occurred, too. I'm still working through that, so I'm choosing to not include those years in this post.
I started attending a trauma support group eight years ago. For the first 2 years I went I didn't speak. I always sat in the same place, where I could see the door and everyone else that was there. I observed. But there was a stirring inside me. It was the need to unpack some of the heavier boxes.
I began seeing a therapist, who was also the leader of the support group. A few sessions in, it felt like she reached right in and yanked out the boxes. They felt like balls now, bouncing all over the place. They didn't fit back together, neatly, anymore.
That process started five years ago. Am I healed? No, but I am healing. It's similar to when my guts exploded. Even though there was healing taking place on the outside -- evidenced by a scar-- there was still healing that needed to happen on the inside. Emotional traumas are the same. At times, I feel like I'm totally normal, whole, complete. Then there are days when I feel like I'm just holding on by a thread, my emotions bubbling just below the surface. Both of those are okay.
What about you? Do you have boxes or bouncy balls? Healing can start in either place are you ready to see what yours looks like?
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