when healing is coming

Three years ago today, I had an epic bicycle accident.  (Talk about making tax day worse; it’s surefire, but I wouldn’t recommend it.)  It doesn’t really seem possible that it’s been three years.  Entire lifetimes have happened between then and now, and yet the handful of details I actually remember are still as clear as if they’d happened yesterday.

I spent some time this evening reading back through some of the things I’ve written here and in other places about the accident, and about my long, long journey towards healing.  If my present self could go back in time and leave a comment for my past self, I think I would say one of two things, depending on the moment:

“Hang in there, honey; it gets better from here – I promise.”  and  “Oh, dear…  I know exactly how you feel.”

Someone asked me about a month ago how long it had taken me to heal after the accident, and I didn’t really know what to say.  I remember the doctor in the ER telling me how very lucky I had been, but that I had a lot of healing to do.  That it would take weeks, months, years even, and to be prepared for that.

She was right.

In truth, three years later, I’m still healing.  Oh, sure, my perspective is different –  because there’s now distance, and that changes you, and how you see things.  The emotional scars are quieter, less angry, and a little less painful – and often even invisible until something hits them the wrong way.

But physically – well, I still have spells every now and again where gravel starts working its way out of my face, and there isn’t enough cover-up in the world to hide it.  (And oh, boy, oh – is that ever the pride-killing trial that just keeps on giving.)  My broken finger is still crooked, but it doesn’t ache very often, tho sometimes I become vaguely aware while I’m typing that I move my right hand in unusual typing patterns, because I taught myself how to type without using it, and I haven’t been able to figure out how to unlearn the habit (I’m not sure it’s worth it).  My face and my teeth have been aching like crazy for several weeks, tho, and as I was reading through old posts today I finally realized why: stress is a trigger.

The past few days (and honestly, the past four months) have been insanely stressful.  A friend observed kindly as she was helping me process it, “This is the hardest season you’ve ever been through, isn’t it?”  Well, yes.  The accident itself might tie for first place, but yes – this season has been incredibly difficult, and I just realized ten minutes ago, as I made a conscious decision to relax as many of my facial muscles as possible, that my face has been tense since the middle of November.

No wonder my scars are aching.

That brief little exercise got me thinking about the power of our thoughts, and the relationship between our minds, our bodies, and our spirits.  In order to relax my facial muscles, I had to choose to do it.  To keep them relaxed, I had to commit to noticing what happened when I did, and not start thinking about anything else.  I had to just be – and I had to be in the moment.  The second I started thinking about anything, I had to re-choose to relax.

And here’s where I find the whole concept of “centering prayer” so helpful: when we slow down and breathe slowly, steadily, and rhythmically – when we choose one word or one phrase to focus on: like “Jesus” or “peace” – suddenly there isn’t room for anything else.

I’ll confess: I’ve let the chaos of the past few months throw me.  I’ve let all the worries and uncertainties and hurts dictate how I respond to things, at least internally, whether I’ve wanted to or not.  And it’s caused a bit of damage to my soul.  But some of it, at least, is reparable – with time and patience, some intentional self-care, and a commitment to working through things as I need to (or as they come up).

Like these scars on my face, the scars on ours souls will make themselves known when we’re out of balance, when something is not quite right.  Something will tug the wrong way; something will sting or ache when it’s not supposed to anymore.  The key is learning to pay attention: to recognize the early signs, discern what’s happening, and take the necessary steps towards healing in that moment.

Easier said than done, I know.  Oh, trust me, I know.  But one day at a time, healing is coming.  Some days it will be visible.  Other days it will look like nothing’s happening.  And on still other days, it will feel like it will never happen at all.

But it will, dear heart.  It will.

I have to believe that.

I’m living proof.  (And still living it.)

photo courtesy of ©Depositphotos.com / chaoss; font: Janda As Long As You Love Me by Kimberly Geswein