“Our deepest wounds are the lens through which we see the
world.”—May 1994
I sing along with the radio: “I can see clearly now, the
pain is gone. I can see all obstacles in my way. All of the dark clouds have
passed me by. I can see bright, bright sunshiny day.”
That is a song that can bring tears to my eyes. It’s a song about
recovery and healing. I am so aware of how my own wounds distort how I see John
and how I see myself in this relationship. I know that anyone would be afraid
of cancer and that any caregiver fears that the person they love will get sick,
sicker, or die. This is not about turning a molehill into a mountain. This is
not about turning a stomach ache into cancer. It’s about cancer being cancer
and being threatening. But still, but even with that, how much do I lose my --and
our --good life to my very old beliefs that I will be abandoned? How much do I
assume that will happen because I am not enough? How often do I set myself aside
and wait for pain and grief to descend --and when they don’t I go and shake the
fear tree to bring some fears so that I can have the familiar terror?
Enough already. It’s about woundedness and beliefs. I am a
woman of faith and I believe in God but these beliefs are something else. Maybe
this is a kind of blasphemy—I have created Gods of Woundedness that I worship
and serve before my God of love. Oh God, I am ready to relinquish this belief
in the false Gods and let you love me now.
