Processing experiences takes time. Reflecting on them, their impact on us, and what they mean requires thought. The important thing is that we get to decide what something means and how we integrate it- if at all. Stuff happens all the time, both good and bad, and we get to choose what meaning we construct. This is powerful as it allows me to be judge of all the beautiful and terrible I experience in the world.
A few weeks ago, I shared a bizarre, medical journey from which I continue to recover. This involved a toxic Sego Palm giving me a scratch from Hell. I’m still processing it all. My hand almost functions the same post surgery and my DReSS Syndrome (nope, it doesn’t involve fashion) is presently under control.
Last week I found myself rattling off to medical billing that I had 6 ER visits, 3 hospitalizations, 1 out patient surgery and a month of Home Health care over a span of 6 weeks. The person then qualitatively added, “That sounds traumatic.” Her naming my experience as trauma never dawned on me and I’m the therapist intern! Was my experience traumatic? Since I had not considered it, I honestly didn’t know. Was it overwhelming? Yes. Was it painful? Yes. Was it devaststing? No. Would I use the word traumatic to define my experience? Probably not. It was a lot and it was very scary but I did not reach the point of despair. I admit I did decompensate on three occasions and bawled like a baby. That’s actually minimal in my humble opinion.
The one thing the whole experience DID provide was an urgency and laser focus I had not had prior. I began deleting emotional and physical distractions, discarding the irrelevant, and became more purposeful with the precious time the good Lord allowed. Specifically, I felt a sort of commissioning occurring. Wrapping up school and entering internship became my driving force. I didn’t realize I was actually embarking on a calling- not just a professional endeavor. Once internship began, it felt like the biggest AHA moment of my life. Everything that ever happened, including recent events, and all I have learned in my life brought me to this point in time. The clarity was astounding. The depth of my gratitude was at times embarrassing. I felt a deep seated contentment I did not know was even possible.
Would I have this laser focused, purpose driven existence prior? Probably not to the same level. Cutting the crap only occurred because I actually faced my mortality directly and realized there’s not a moment to waste. It’s now or never to live authentically, congruently as who God made me to be. I accept myself so much more now- quirks and complexities. I forgive my humanity and failings. I laugh way more at how absurd life is. I am more open and transparent. I notice beauty everywhere. I engage people like the Fed Ex dude who delivers to my home (Chris is married and kayaks). I talk to people and humanize them over using them. Life is in technicolor and I know who I am and what I’m to do. It’s a gift I would prefer to avoid ever again having to pay what I did to receive it.
Defining what cutting the crap means is also a personal construct. For example, using my grandmother’s 90 year old sterling flatware every day over old stainless was one definitive decision. This small change makes me smile every time I open the drawer.
Forrest Gump said, “Life is like a box of chocolates. You don’t know what you’re gonna get.” I am taking that further by adding, “make sure you bite into actual chocolate and be sure to cut the crap.”
Fourundertwo 