It’s strange, but my healing seems to run by themes. First it was decision-making, the frightening freedom I stood looking at. Then it was safety, diagnosis and symptom-management. Then there was victimisation, and coming to terms with my status as victim as well as survivor. Learning to make space for my anger, and the twisted, bitter feeling of hatred. Trying to work out where my own responsibility lay, and what if anything I deserved, needed to take the blame for. Wave after wave, and I’ve ridden each of them and then turned to face the next one.
The current theme seems to be self-worth. What, if any, value I have in the world. From where do I take my self-worth: from external competencies, from internal strengths, or from something deeper? Why do my friends like me, and would I like myself more if I could see myself through their eyes?
These are the questions with which I’m wrestling, and I realise that having the courage to answer them honestly will make me a better person. All of this is working towards something. There is a reason for it all.
I was walking home from the Cathedral tonight when I came across a couple walking a puppy. A pug, all squashed face and loud breathing and pig-curl tail and brand-new-to-the-world enthusiasm. I stopped to say hello (as you do) and allowed the creature to enthuse all over my lap and taste my fingers to see what they were made of, and I scratched its head when it stayed still long enough and told it what a good and dignified dog it would grow up to be.
Ardent, exuberant little scrap of Spirit. Small wriggling manifestation of the Divine. A soul of such worth just because it is a soul. Just because it is the creation of the Creator. Because it is its own expression of the Source of being in the world.
If that little fragment of anima, of soul, is worth something just for being what it is, then so must I be.
I’ve just got to get that through my head, that’s all.