Ever since I posted that last entry, the final line has been bothering me. I wrote: "How can I possibly nurture others until I "save the only life I can save," my own?"The truth is, I don't believe that you have to "save" or heal yourself before you can nurture others. If I believed that, I would not be doing the work that I do with children and families. I don't even really think it is possible to reach some ultimate state of being healed. As my dad always said, "Life is a journey, not a destination." If I waited until I was healed to begin helping others, I would be waiting my whole life, because healing (like learning) never ends!
There are moments in my process that I feel lost or confused, even broken in some way. And those moments have something to offer me, and other people as well. I guess that is part of why I write this blog. I think experiencing and sharing my process authentically is more important that reaching some sort of endpoint.
What I was intending to say when I wrote that line was this: I want to remember to have balance between looking outward and looking inward, and I want to remember that there is no separation between nurturing myself and nurturing others. The more I nurture myself, the more I have to offer.
2 comments:
Jess,
I am thinking that blogging isn't about saying exactly the right thing at any given time, but saying what is on your mind. The follow up is a good thing and I thank you for it, but I think that anyone who knows you at all knows that you consider you life a work in progress.
We know you to truly examine it and get to the guts of the issues (sometimes for all the rest of us as well), we know you are healing and not healed, and we know that you know it. And we thank you for guiding us in our healing also.
i heard something the other day that has been bouncing around my empty blonde head, it seems to put things into perspective for me: "We are just the waves, we are not the water". Don't know why I share that with you right now, but there it is...
Love you,
g.
Jessie-
When Rowan died, I found that the grace and gift of my job was that I could help create order, beauty and sense in another person's life one half hour at a time. Losing a child is so out of order and senseless that sometimes it felt like there were no comfortable places in my head. My mind couldn't provide any comfort for my heart and my heart hurt so much it was a physical pain. And so it helped to have little vacations from both my intellect and my emotions. Often the lessons I taught provided a structure and organization for my life on the days I wouldn't have had the wherewithal to brush my teeth on my own behalf. But for the sake of my relationships with my marvelous students and their fantastic families, I could let their love and energy motivate me and carry me for the space of a lesson. It sounds like you have that kind of job. What a gift.--Jennifer
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