Self Care - Part 3 - Quiet Suffering

As I prepare for our Trauma Sensitive Yoga training and course (coming this Summer), and in honor of my mom’s guiding wisdom, I invite you to join me in exploring the parts of you that are quietly suffering.

Today, I ask you to – if it is comfortable – to sit with the pain and honor it. Honor where it came from and then, if it feels like the right time, let it (the pain of quiet suffering) know that it is time for some deep healing to begin.

Many of us have had to endure some traumatic pain in our life, and while we may not have PTSD or some other identified trauma disorder, we still suffer deep down inside. Maybe you do have an identified condition, and it is really hard on your mental every day. Lot’s of us endure quiet suffering.

Trauma is a deeply distressing or disturbing experience that may have caused physical and/or emotional injury. It could have been an accident, loss, a physical or verbal attack, a decision made out of duress, and the list goes on. The isolating energy of the pandemic was traumatic for millions of people; leaving us in varying degrees of fear, loss of trust, anxiety, sickness and great anticipation.

The quiet suffering is what I want to address.
Please know that I recognize how big and complicated the topic of trauma and suffering is, and my intention (and hope) is that you may find some encouragement here.

Many of us may suppress those things that have caused us pain. We do this for many reasons. Too many to name. Many suffer from shame for feeling badly about the way we were raised, for example, or things that happened to us (which we blame ourselves for). Or we will tell ourselves many stories to avoid facing deep hurt. We blame ourselves or secretly (or loudly) blame others. We dread the process of addressing the root of our pain, so we push it down and away.

In the quiet of suffering, we re-live our hurts over and over again; distracting us from fulfilling our destiny and our purpose. So how do we heal? Can we heal?

Yes.

It will take time and a little courage.

You can do this.

The first step is to take the time to acknowledge our trauma. It’s time to write it out or find a therapist (or someone you can trust) and speak it.

Then we need to honor it. Yes, honor it.

As we shed light on the pain, it will feel at first like we are being traumatized all over again. But with love, support and prayer we can slowly find our way to renewal. To find our way to wholeness.

If we don’t, we are in jeopardy of living in a state of suppressed feelings, which can move to depression, isolation and delusion, and finally dis-ease (or disease).

In our hope to live a life of freedom, honoring our pain and trauma (yes, honoring it) can be liberating.

AN HOMAGE TO MY MOTHER

Last year, my mother called me and said she had bought a large pinwheel and invited me to come to the children’s cemetery in Rockland County where my brother is buried. She explained that the pinwheel was not in memory of my brother James, but it was for a ceremony for me. She went on to explain that it was time for me to address the pain of having so many miscarriages. Time to give my lost babies a ceremony.

At first, I did what I usually did. “I am fine mom.” I said. “That is super sweet, but it is okay.”

You see, I was previously married and wanted to have babies. My body kept rejecting them and I had six total miscarriages. As a vegan, an earth yogi and a Christ follower, I believe that life begins at inception and was very saddened by these losses. Like many of us, I suppressed it. I told everyone I was fine and it was behind me.

My mother saw through this façade and realized that I needed to honor my quiet suffering. Truth is, I had suppressed the disappointment of the losses. I had masked it with distractions and made myself believe I was fine.

But it was time, and I knew it deep down inside of my heart.

This past January on a snowy day, when I was ready, I met my mom, brother and step-dad at the cemetery. They brought flowers and said prayers. They gave me space to honor the pain, let it go and be on the ‘road to better.’

Personally, without her encouragement, I may have gone my whole life without addressing this. But my mother was right that I needed to release and heal.

Ceremony is a beautiful way to honor and give voice to the quiet suffering. That is where the healing can really start.

TO YOU

May you find the strength to honor that quiet suffering and start on your path for healing. When you are ready. You will.