“Throw your body at the mark when your arrows are spent.” Emerson

I heard that quote on a podcast during one of my weekly drives to Pueblo last summer. I would get up with just enough time to throw on clothes, make a to-go cup of coffee and drive the hour and fifteen minutes to be at my EMDR session by 8am. I loved that drive. I loved the early morning stillness and time to myself. I loved the ease of traveling eighty miles while sitting still. I loved the charged-up nervous energy as I thought about what might come up during therapy. I loved the drive back, integrating what we’d uncovered, feeling tired and emotional and grateful and a bit stunned at the volume of trauma we were speeding through. Stunned at the volume of trauma I’d survived.

I was listening to a podcast and heard the quote from Emerson, and it vibrated through me, rang me like a bell. Yes, I thought. Yes. Resilience. Persistence. When all else fails, throw the last thing you have at it. Do anything but give up.

In the Hero’s Journey, I used to think that going into the cave to face the dragon/shadow/monster is the climax of the story, and it’s all downhill, easy-peasy from there. The cave, the reckoning and wrestling with our deepest fear, is the life-or-death turning point, no doubt, but it’s not the climax of the story. What we develop here is the willingness to go into that place. Our willingness to engage with the intelligence of life is forged and tempered, so that even if that intelligence takes the form of unbearable fear and pain, we learn that we can bear it. We learn that, as Eve Ensler says, there is a doorway at the center of our wounds. When we develop the courage to walk through that door, we find the path on the other side. We survive, but we’re not done. We’re not longer hollow selves, hungry ghosts, wooden toys. We’ve turned into real people, flesh and blood and spine. We’ve integrated the magic and synchronicity of our journey thus far. We’ve faced, loved, and integrated our shadow selves. We know the rules of this special underworld, but we haven’t yet been put to the real test. This is where the rubber meets the road, and this is where I hung out for a long, long time. I was through the doorway, but not sure where to go now. I was making lazy circles with my toes in the nearby stream, taking naps in sun dappled glades, languishing in the almost real world, afraid and unsure of the next steps.

It’s ok. I needed the rest. But eventually that got uncomfortable, as stagnation always does, and I reluctantly started the journey home. What that means in the nuts and bolts real world is that while I had undergone a year and a half of therapy, tackled my codependency issues, enjoyed continued sobriety and had literally come home, my body still held the memory of trauma, and it was affecting my life. I had diligently done meditation and yoga, journaled on it, slept on it, ignored it, prayed on it, tried to walk, run, sweat it out of me, and still, my body felt unsafe and reacted with fight or flight, throat closing anxiety whenever it felt I was in danger. Basically, I was out of whack. Nervous system dysregulation.

So, having spent all of my arrows, I threw my body at the mark. I found a therapist to lead me through EMDR to finally face my trauma. I went every Thursday morning for 8 weeks. I, on purpose, triggered my nervous system into anxiety bordering on panic. I felt like I would float away. I got flop sweats and shallow breath and felt lightheaded and faced the things that I’d done and that had been done to me. EMDR helped me integrate those experiences in new ways. My brain was hungry for a new path to take, and with my therapist guiding me, my looping thoughts jumped the well-worn neural tracks and headed off into the terrain of new possibilities. Or some kind of magic like that. I don’t know how it works, but it did, and it was life changing. The breakthrough moment was facing the reality of my past. Yes, these things had happened. Yes, they hurt. Yes, it was really hard. I ugly cried in front of my therapist. On purpose. I allowed myself to experience full unarmored vulnerability with another human being for maybe the first time ever. I didn’t keep it together. I didn’t manage myself. I let go. And she was amazing. I could almost see the aura of empathetic compassion surrounding her meeting my own emotional release in the room between us. Her eyes filled with tears witnessing my vulnerability and my brave choice to forfeit protection and be seen. It was, for me, a massive leap of faith, and it changed everything.

I had done so much work on my own. I was managing everything relatively successfully. I could cry behind closed doors, and extend myself compassion, allowance, and care. I could pick myself up and try again, and again and again. What I needed was to do this work with another human being. Another nervous system. Space and appropriate boundaries and safety with another human being. I needed the mysterious interaction that happens between vagus nerve complexes and electromagnetic fields emanating from our hearts and brains, and all of the unspoken language that happens through body language and eye contact.

We need each other.

If you’re suffering, find a therapist, a support group, a 12 step program, a very safe and trusted friend, worthy of receiving your vulnerability. If you want to write to me for any reason, honeyheartllc@gmail.com