Tears on my face, cold air playing with my hair, bright sun through the new leaves and my fingers on the solid truth of the tree bark, I embrace the sadness and overwhelm. I've done this a hundred times before. I will survive it again.
It comes gently when I invite it. Painfully but gently, not like the destructive distress of pushed-away pain. It hurts, this caring, and I fear it taking over - that's why I usually run from it - but it heals too, if I allow it.
Held by the deep strength of nature, I am always cared for.
It makes me vulnerable - now and probably for the next few days - I don't know how many times I can do it but maybe I don't need to worry about that. Worry about right now, and right now I have survived it.
I try not to push it away before it's finished, and to let it come and go as I follow where my attention leads through the walk with its plants, sculptures and creatures.
It has taken four sessions with three separate people to finally bring me here today - all of whom have highlighted the same theme in their own way - and it reminds me of the many others who would be proud of me today. That hurts too, but it makes me happy in a sad kind of way. I know I'm on the right track and that makes all their time, effort and care worthwhile, which is the best I can do to honour what they have given me.
It makes me vulnerable - now and probably for the next few days - I don't know how many times I can do it but maybe I don't need to worry about that. Worry about right now, and right now I have survived it.
I try not to push it away before it's finished, and to let it come and go as I follow where my attention leads through the walk with its plants, sculptures and creatures.
It has taken four sessions with three separate people to finally bring me here today - all of whom have highlighted the same theme in their own way - and it reminds me of the many others who would be proud of me today. That hurts too, but it makes me happy in a sad kind of way. I know I'm on the right track and that makes all their time, effort and care worthwhile, which is the best I can do to honour what they have given me.
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| I love the oak sculpture (by Tom Handley) which reads "memory that grows into a shape the tree always knew as a seed" - see below for credit and a link to Gareth Evans' poem Hold Everything Dear |
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| I have taken a picture almost identical to this before |
For me, nearly everything still relates back to then. A squirrel scurrying past, the smell of the earth under a group of fir trees, the texture of a wetroom floor under my bare feet, the word "agenda," I could go on and on. Everything is linked with a memory. It may be two years on, but the whole foundation of my life now is built on that time, because now I am living in recovery. Perhaps it is not disproportionate because that was when I learned a new way to live. Much as your childhood informs a huge part of who you become, that period of my life forms a huge part of who I now am. Maybe that's OK for now, if I can learn to live alongside it.
Credits
For a written or audio version of the full poem see links below:
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