Statues

I heard a beautiful Moth story today about an 8 year old boy who accidentally broke his mother’s beloved statue gifted to her by her father when she was young.

When the statue fell and broke into a thousand pieces, this little boy’s mother wailed louder than he had ever heard her wail before. He knew how much she adored her father, and as such, why that statue held so much value. He also knew she could never forgive him. So, he ran off to hide under the neighbors bushes, heartbroken.

Turns out, his heart was already torn from another recent situation. Prior to this event the boy had experienced his first crush. Understandably, the hard lessons of liking another boy openly in the 50’s south were just unfolding.

But something unusual happened. After a few moments his mother did come find him in the pouring rain. She crawled on all fours in her dress to sit with him under the bushes, not minding the mud. She explained that when the statue fell, she believed that her connection with her father had also broken. But a few moments later she remembered what was actually true.

Her father’s love could never be altered by a shattered statue. She told her son that in that same way, her love of him could never be changed. The narrator doesn’t need to further explain details of how his faithful mother showed up, we somehow already know.

This is the power of a compassionate witness. The impact of a loving presence can unpack a scary event and simultaneously prevent trauma from sticking. This is not a small thing.

When we experience overwhelm in the presence of distress, and the absence of someone helping us navigate, trauma often occurs. 

Trauma’s compass wisely numbs the discomfort and hides the evidence. It’s designed to be temporary, but intervention is often needed later to interrupt the cycle. Either way, we need a witness to help us unstick the damage. But it’s a lot easier when it happens on the front end of things.

When you read this story, you can see it, can’t you? If the boys mother did in fact believe her bond with her father had broken, the direction for the boy and the mother would have been much darker. Two traumatized souls, instead of none.

Trauma buries our authentic selves and blocks connection with others. It does this to keep us safe, hidden, protected. 

Those blocked parts of ourselves create constriction that causes problems downstream. Symptoms and syndromes can emerge; depression vs expression, anxiety, addiction, digestive issues, chronic fatigue, migraines, insomnia, panic attacks or unexplained muscle pain.

Some of us don’t even realize our bodies are holding patterns because the event is forgotten or deemed insignificant.  We can spend our lives believing we are fine, and not have a lens for the chronic tension, or persistent sadness. Sometimes, a significant life transition will alert us that not all is well beneath the surface. 

These messages are a gift, a wake up call. Though admittedly, when my life began to fall apart 20+ years ago, it took a long time to understand the value of it. 

My work continues to impress upon me how emotions and sensations are showing me pieces that need attending to. When I can attune, there’s balance, congruity and relationship around the corner, regardless of how many statues I’ve broken.