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Can I say that I really dig it when my daily reader is dead on where I am in working on my issues that exact day? Or is it that my daily reader is keeping me on track and that the author is brilliant in the natural progression of recovery? Either way, I love it when this happens.

My daily reader is Daily Affirmations for Forgiving and Moving On by Tian Dayton. For full disclosure, I have had this little book for four or five years. Since I write in my books, keeping track of growth is fairly easy, I have only to read what I wrote in 2012 on say, July 1st. I am sure I bought this book in 2010 or 2011, but my writing begins in 2012. Knowing myself, this is when I began to work it in earnest. This little book is one of about twenty of my book-therapists. For me, books are my best friends.

Today is about Total Healing.

Today I seek more than relief from pain-I seek total healing. While I am only looking to relive my pain, I will be satisfied when it passes, how it passes, and I will not look for the roots and put in the time and effort necessary for full healing. Total healing comes when I am truly committed to my spiritual growth and deep inner change. Relief from pain is fine, but it is temporary at best; the pain will return in a variety of forms if real healing does not occur. Healing takes patience. It takes a willingness to be completely honest with myself about myself. It means that I have chosen not to run form those parts of me I wish not to see and that I have decided it is more important to be free than relieved.  I seek healing on a deep level.

In my daily life I get frustrated with myself. With all my lacking, my messy studio, my low to no drive about my living habits, my low-income, the stark lack of phone calls, texts, and Facebook messages of friends beckoning social engagements, and the general unhurried, seemingly aimless muted way I move through my day until I go to work. But I know this is part of the process. The sit-down-and-shut-up-stop-picking-on-yourself process of healing. I constantly have to remind myself that I know how to shop, cook, clean, organize, replace, repair, nest, volunteer, work a second job, and extend myself to others. What I don’t know is how to be alone. Totally alone save for if I don’t show up at work. I don’t know how to heal all the way. I don’t just want pain or discomfort relived. I have spent a life-time on relief. It has gotten too exhausting to live just for relief or to continue to do what I do to get it. This last break down was so catastrophic that I can’t even get up the same way I used to. I don’t want to cover shame, assuage guilt, manage anger, contain fear, or bury sadness and loneliness. I want to totally heal myself of the wreck I’ve allowed my insides to become.

I have to heal my mornings. I want to learn how to get up in the morning. My dream is that some day I will awake to wholeness. When I wake from sleep, there will be peace, not a moment of frozen terror, dread, uncertainty, and guilt. My hope is to embrace that the morning is here, I am alive, healthy, employed, loved by one, and have good things that I enjoy to do. My mind tells me that everyone, everywhere, often awakes and says to themselves, “Say it isn’t so”, as they drag themselves from their place of rest. Because I am an avid listener of National Pubic Radio, I understand how fortunate I am to be a woman, to be white, to live in the middle of the USA, a little bit North. I understand the privilege that those things afford me, along with a middle class upbringing, state education, credit, and the right to leave a marriage. My life is nice. I have no fears for my safety, my roof, my income, my food, water, clothing, bodily temperature, lighting, communications, or mobility. I do not live in fear of being ripped apart by barrel bombs, kidnapped and enslaved by soldiers, dying of starvation or disease, nor am I in immediate danger of natural disasters. My family lives in busy oblivion to the rest of the world except for two or three who might also listen to the radio as I do. Notice I say “might” for I do not know what any of my family does save for my son, because I don’t talk to them. While families across the globe live in terror for their blood kin, mine is largely indifferent, turned only to their specific given last name. That this bothers me because I have no one to share mine, does not escape me. No, we have no outrageous outside violence. Ours is mostly inside ourselves.

Now I have reached my point and my question. What the hell?! I mean really. Get up, eat, make your bed, do your dishes, pay a bill, buy what you need, exercise, and go to work. Why all the internal drama? Don’t you know how fortunate you are? You ARE free. In a million ways you are free! Go. Go make a good life for yourself. Tomorrow you will be full of guilt over your waste, your whininess, your lack of gratitude and courage.

Yes. Yes to all of it. I know. Guilty on all accounts. But it doesn’t change my interior in this moment.

Is trauma trauma? Is it the same no matter how it is acquired, maintained, unknown, ignored, misunderstood, and lived out in disguise? Is it like Sin, no better or worse or different than another? Of course I know what I am saying, and believe me, my shame is deep and hollowing my insides as I write; but I suspect that to the individual person, as an animal, as an inherently physically weak, slow, poorly sensed creature, it doesn’t matter, trauma is trauma, we absorb it all the same.

My last brushes with with trauma were months to a couple of years ago. Frequently small things pique my innards causing reassessment and reassurance that I am beyond my most recent trauma. If only my trauma was beyond me. What a healing that would be.

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