I’m all about healing: our bodies, our minds, our souls, our lives–and yes, I’ve got wounds that need healing, too. I say it to others, but I say it to myself, too:At this age –nearly 70! –it’s almost dizzying to be confronted with my own wounds and the stark recognition that there is still healing to be done. Working on a big memoir project–a solo performance that will one day, be a memoir–First, I applaud myself for still standing, after living through a traumatic childhood.
And then I allow myself to be vulnerable so that I can let the wounds come out the other end of my keyboard. I’m never sure what they’ll be until they are on the page. And then, when I read them back, I am incredibly touched at the resilience of that little girl I was once. Being this vulnerable is a BFD to me. I have never allowed myself to go to the places that, at one time, weren’t safe. But as I go there now, at the keyboard, I see that the act of opening up enough to allow myself to feel and then write those feelings is healing, in and of itself.Like me, perhaps you’ll find this exercise, by the always inspirational writer, Mark Nepo, helpful, fromWhen you can, walk or sit by a lake or pond. Watch the leaves float on the surface.Just breathe.
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