Do you sometimes get to the point where you sort of “feel” a word? When you read it? Heal is a word that in a way does it to me. I look at it and it makes me feel good. Although healing is often in relation with pain. Physical or mental pain. And yet the word “heal” makes me breath deeper and calmer and gives me a good feeling. That is of course because it means something good. It means that something progresses and gets better.
I witness physical healing in a friend of mine who was very sick for a very long time, had to make a massive decision, went through with it although scared to death about making that step and is now in recovery. I watch her as she deals with everything thrown at her in such a brave manner. How she tackles everything with grace although feeling like shit. I get her ups and downs. While I watch her I realize that the ups and downs are an important part of her healing progress. That she needs to ride the waves in order to move forward mentally. That it needs it all to heal her soul. Because this illness gets to your soul too. It tries to take everything. And she refused to give it. I watch in awe, realizing that my struggles are not only different to hers but not even worth mentioning in comparison to what she has to deal with.
This realization helps me heal my wounds. It helps me making the steps forward and riding my waves, putting the pieces together on my personal way forward. We both give each other little bits and pieces to help move on in our personal journeys.
It makes me smile when she tells me that I’m good for her. That being with me makes her feel so much better, that I give her the energy she needs. She even called me a healer once. But this is not why it makes me smile. I don’t consider myself a healer. It makes me smile because I’m happy that I can give her what she gives me. And while I try to explain to her that I feel the same way when I’m around her, she still doesn’t understand or acknowledges how much she is actually doing for me.
Maybe it’s also because my wounds can’t be seen. They are wounds I carry in my soul. The leftovers I carry with me from the past. While I can see her wounds, see the results of her battle, mine are hidden. Maybe that’s why we also often “walk over” them as if nothing ever happened, as if they would not exist, would never been inflicted. There just not obvious enough.
But the healing of wounds like these is as necessary as healing a bleeding wound.
While reading this again I can’t stop thinking that it sounds almost overly dramatic. I’m not that bad off. There are people struggling with worse out there. Actually some of you just reading this have a way worse battle to fight. My battle is a tiny one. But it makes me realize that everyone fights one, small or big, and has to deal with it. Just because we do not see everyone’s wounds doesn’t mean they are not deep and need healing, need time, need a gentle approach.