I have a theory about loss, hurt and pain that I’d like to share with you. I lost my mom to cancer just a little over two years ago. Since then, it has been a struggle juggling the “loss” feeling with everything else. As I was attempting to figure what was/is going on with me, I came up with a little illustration/metaphor. Bear with me as I try to explain it.
When we lose someone or something so important to us it can cut us down to our inner core. If this was a real injury, we could face the threat of hypovolemic shock from all the blood loss. This deep laceration does not heal easily. The tissue has been damaged and blood lost. As with any wound, it takes time, effort, and rest to heal.
Rest. Do we ever really give ourselves an “emotional rest” to properly allow ourselves to heal? Or is that even an option? We could seclude ourselves from the world and ignore all the external influences that trigger memories or remind us of the void we now have in our lives.
We risk getting cut again every day (since it is not practical for us to exclude ourselves wholly from the world). That next cut might be less severe, maybe even just be a little paper cut, but when we are faced with another challenge, another struggle, or loss that hits us a little too close to our BIG wound, it could cause that deep hurt all over again. Now that little pain hurts for what it is worth and also cuts us down to that deep place where we were cut before. Pain on top of pain.
Illustration
Those little cuts can make it hard to deal with the big thing in your life. They could be the loss of a job or someone else, a break-up, a newly damaged relationship, or countless other things that can cause you pain.
As I said before, this has been something I have struggled with since losing Mom. It’s not necessarily the small things that cause me so much trouble, but the fact that I’m still dealing with that big thing.
It took me being able to break it down to understand why every little thing seemed to bother me. Now I at least understand why I feel even if I don’t know how to help “heal” it.
Final Mystery 