“Writing is easy. All you do is sit down at the typewriter and bleed”- Ernest Hemmingway
Each Monday I make time to sit and cry for an hour. The pain of pre-race season is different than any season of pain I’ve felt in the past. It’s a different struggle.
There have been seasons of my life marked by bitter-sweetness. Feelings of helplessness that draw me closer to Christ in the most beautiful ways… the seasons that require complete surrender of plans, relationships, and dreams. In these seasons I’ve felt as though I was drowning. Each thrashing movement a half swim-stroke, a half fighting of the current. Pain from situational events, that hurt in the moment. Shoreline nowhere to be seen, an ending nowhere in sight. Journal entries stained by tears and tagged with graffiti of helplessness.
This is not that kind of season.
This struggle has a destination. This season of struggle is a journey to the World Race. These hurts that I’m facing… they’re perfectly calculated, they’re old scabs being picked off one by one:: pride, anger, hurt, guilt, jealousy, hypocrisy, selfishness, fear, loneliness, greed. Lies repeating to me that I’m not worthy of salvation, shortcomings that have plagued relationships. Sins that have made me question my motives for applying to the World Race.
I am so very broken and grateful for this season.
Each Monday, with the help of my therapist, I look at these wounds. Some that are so old I had forgotten about them…others so entrenched in me, my behavior is unhealthy. Each one is being examined- treated properly- tenderly cared for- and in the process of healing. AND IT HURTS!
Some weeks, I am so hopeful and leave exhausted and spent. Sometimes, I bring pride into the room only to be met with the disarming kindness of, “how do you feel today”?
The best way I know to explain what therapy has done for me is this::
Most of the hurts and pain I have endured and carried up to this point in my life have been like scabs. They are wounds that I allowed to fester and then pushed the emotion down and put on a brave face. The thing about scabs, they itch like crazy! They steal your attention and at the worst possible moment you get the desire to pick it. I have been in situations, even in the past year week, where something said triggers in me an emotion that is from a previous hurt.
But therapy has helped me slowly pick and put Neosporin® on these scabs, little by little. And they’re healing into scars now…still every bit part of my testimony, still open for discussion and a story to be told. But, scars don’t itch and fester and require attention. They just are.
I am so very wrecked, and there are parts of me that the World Race will test and there will always be opportunity for healing… but I’d rather know what size baggage I’m bringing with me on this journey. Therapy is helping me re-learn coping, communication, and grieving skills… making this a very sweet season of struggle.
