I’ve had hearbreak in my life…times when I thought that the pain might have me go mad. Literally. If not mad, then I might die…or perhaps it was more that I just hoped to die…to escape the pain, to not have to live with the heartache. It was brutally hard to “hold the space for pain and discomfort” of acute grief.
That line: “hold the space for pain and discomfort” comes from here:
“Faith communities perceive it as a unwillingness to be in the dark, to feel pain…I would argue that it’s not always an unwillingness, it’s sometimes it’s the inability… ‘I don’t know how…I physically, spiritually, emotionally, physiologically don’t know how to sit in that.’ ”
from the video Brene Brown, Shame and Vulnerability
I remember powerful experiences of people being willing to sit in the space of darkness of pain and discomfort with me.
- I remember holding vigil for loved ones in hospital…an acquaintance I barely knew stopped by to visit us. Many people stopped by to visit us, to offer words of comfort and courage, to attempt to cheer us up, to bring food, to pray—all of them appreciated, but his are the only words I distinctly remember many years later. He said little, stood around fairly quietly, and then mumbled… “I hate this shitty place”,adding a few months earlier, he had also stood death vigil for a loved one on the very ward.His words spoke understanding…he sat with us for a few minutes in the dark.
- I remember years later, as another heartbreak loomed near…the pain and despair threatened to overwhelm.Special neighbors created space and held my darkness…after the tribe was tucked in and sleeping for the night, I’d walk down the street and settle myself on their couch…folding myself in half on their couch to weep..head in my hands, hands on my lap.I would sob and sob while she would have her hand on my back, and he, his hand on my knee.After I was all cried out, I would make my way back to my house to fall into bed, able to crash into an exhausted sleep.For several weeks, several times per week, I would knock on their door, and they would open it, and take their place on the couch with space in between for me, ready to hold the pain.Little was said…little needed to be said, little could be said.
I’ve never forgotten these.They was priceless then.I learned much from these moments, that I carry still.These companions-in-pain were also my teachers…they taught me how to sit in the space of pain, and eventually, how to be with others in the dark.
“When my kids are struggling, I’m not hardwired to sit in the dark, and sit with them. I’m hardwired to flip on the lights…so we start teaching compassion, and teaching the ability to hold space for pain and discomfort by sitting with our kids in the dark”
from the video
Holding space for pain…a hard task that requires vulnerability, but allows for being fully alive…for the heart that has space for pain, also has space for joy.The heart that can hold grief, can also hold vitality and love and connection with others.
Painful but worthwhile learning.
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