Rest in the Shadows

I heard someone say, “If you work through it, it can’t hurt you anymore.” I’ve spent most of my life shoving hurt down into the deepest crevices of my soul. I didn’t even notice I was doing that at first. I thought I was just blessed to be strong and brave; to rise above the trauma and heartache. But as all those places within me started to fill, eventually there was no more room left. It bulged out further and further like a balloon filling with air. I felt the discomfort of it, but I wasn’t sure what it was. I was still living in this delusion that I was stronger than what I actually was, somewhat untouchable by grief and pain. Then one day, a very small thing happened. It pierced my now over-swollen spirit, like the point of a needle hitting my heart. It was a misunderstanding that led to a negative comment towards me, and just like that, the bulge burst, seeping out everywhere. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think. My mind spun uncontrollably around in circles. All I could do was hold my hands on my head, squeezing as I gasped for air. I tried to focus and slow the thoughts, but nothing helped. My heart burned and ached as I bent over in agony. What was happening? My body felt like it was standing on the edge of a high cliff. The drop was miles deep. Mountains stood in the distance, tall and proud, but not me, not now. Fog covered the bottom of the valley, the place I knew I was about to descend. My feet frightfully teetered on the edge. My stomach twists into knots. And it wasn’t like I could just step back and take a breath. I couldn’t hold up my hand and scream “STOP!” like Jesus commanded the storm and wind. Something held me there, and it celebrated my upcoming demise. I had worked on nothing, and now I was reaping the consequences of that. That grief, sadness, trauma, and pain poured out like black tar, and my body did not know what to do with it. It trembled in fear, and I never felt so vulnerable and alone in all my life. But this was the beginning of my healing process. What I had refused to face for so long was now out and demanding attention. I turned to alcohol first, to keep it under control, but it didn’t help at all. Then I turned to marijuana, and that did give temporary relief, but only made things worse in the long run. I soon discovered that these were just doors to the demonic. It gave them permission to enter into my life and wreak more havoc. They joyfully entered, flinging the tar all over the place, making only more of a mess for me to clean up; more heartache to work through. 

It’s been five years now since this outpouring of anger, bitterness, and grief that took over my life. For the last three years, I have attempted to work through the pain. I’d make some headway, just to fall back again, but as a wise pastor told me one day, I never fall back to the beginning. No one ever said the healing process is easy. It’s anything but that, but it is worth it in the end. Some days, it’s really tempting to give up, but I reach out to a friend or mentor and let them remind me of who I am and what I am fighting for.

Trauma has a voice, and it can be incredibly loud at times. Psalm 91 says, “He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High, finds rest in the shadow of the Almighty.” I am desperate for that rest. The truth gives me rest. When I am feeling out of control, lost, confused, depressed, and even suicidal, I know that I am listening to lies. So to live in peace, I must turn my attention to Him, Jesus Christ, the Healer, the Comforter, the Holy One, and my friend. He brings me into rest by telling me the truth about who I am. He saves me in so many ways.