Finding my Way through the Rubble

Inch by painful inch, I'll rise from the ruins of this experience (Bhaktapur, Nepal, 2015)

Writing about my experience in Nepal opened a dam in my psycho-spiritual journey.  A day after I posted the blog, a dear friend sent me an email saying that I sounded like my usual calm and in-countrol self but also said she sensed a certain wistfulness and "quiet grief". Before I knew it, tears were rolling down my face.  I knew better than to analyse and ask myself why I was crying.  I just allowed myself the much-needed release of tears and the emotions they carried.  

Two days later, I had another unexpected release while in the shower.  This second release came from an even deeper part of me judging not by the sobs that came with it but by the body part where I felt this batch of tears and emotions was coming from - my stomach, my gut.

Clearly, my body-mind-spirit was signalling to me that it was ready for further inner excavation work so that I could begin finding my way through my invisible rubble. I then consciously made a decision to quiet down even more in the coming days and listen to my inner stirrings. 

A close encounter with death.  Yes, I had been exposed to various disasters in the past, but these didn't put me face to face with death. I was many times a vicarious survivor of many traumatic experiences shared with me in the course of providing psycho-social support to trauma survivors, but nothing came close to actually experiencing the possibility of losing life and limb. 

To date, nothing brought me this close to death other than a plane incident two decades ago where I woke in an early morning flight to find gas masks hanging in front of me and a stewardess losing her consciousness in the plane's aisle.  No, it wasn't a dramatic demonstration of aircraft safety instructions but a directive from the pilot to actually wear the mask.  The plane had a pressurisation problem and had to fly back to Manila as a result.  These two, and especially the Nepal experience, brought out unimaginable fear in me.  I didn't want to die in a foreign country.  I made a bargain with death and with the Lord a long time ago that I'd die at 50, which I pushed back a bit to 55 when I turned 35, so, no I just couldn't die yet and leave my son half-orphaned.  While my Filipino companions and I tightly held hands during the 54 seconds that the ground was shaking, I still felt a deep sense of aloneness in my fear - perhaps connected to what we spoke of in our Philosophy classes as "existential loneliness".  Oh death, I feel so ambivalent about you, and you mirror another of my cognitive and affective disconnect:  I claim that I am ready to die anytime, and yet, a part of me actually fears death and the thought of my son's future without a mother. 

Losing everything, just like that. The experience reminds me of how short and fragile like can be.  Hard-earned homes gone in an instant.  Beautiful sites laboured on for years flattened in less than a minute. Loved ones buried and lost forever, no matter the anguish and longing of those left behind. Well-organised plans for a Saturday afternoon all gone and forgotten. How much else would it take for me to take time to smell the flowers, to pour in my energies and time to those that truly matter - my loved ones - and to include myself in the league of those who matter? 

What the emotional barometer says.  One of the major triggers of the other day's crying spells and emotional release was the realisation (or was it a mere reminder?) of my fragile emotional state because of long-standing self-neglect.  I had been through a lot but why is this hitting me much more strongly than the other experiences did?  A metaphor came to mind.  When one's immune system is strong, no matter what kind of virus is spreading around, one isn't likely to catch the bug.  I don't seem to have enough emotional reserves this time to bounce back faster.  I couldn't even name my emotions accurately enough to respond to others when asked so that I'd sometimes wish that people would simply stop asking. All I knew was that I was swinging from emotional numbness to a state of a turbulent mixture of emotions.  I remember how we would talk about "sapin-saping damdamin" in counselling and therapy classes, but what this emotional experience feels like for me is more of "pinaghalong-kalamay na damdamin."  A lot of emotions claiming to be recognised; a mixture of emotions coming from the Nepal experience as well as from way back; a mountain of emotions too overwhelming to face.  

I didn't have a solid hold of myself to face the overwhelming emotions because I had been ignoring my inner life too long.  Long work hours on a regular basis, spending more time in the social media, escaping into another world by reading novels, filling up most weekends with either social activities or domestic chores are not necessarily unhealthy, except perhaps for the first.  It's a red flag though when these stop us from fulfilling our need for solitude and slowing down, for nurturing our inner life.  I've neglected my sacred space too long.  I've made others' needs or my work priorities more important than my own physical and emotional needs.  In the face of tragedy then, I had very little water to draw from my emotional well.  My emotional well had dried up.  

When the body talks.  A week after the incident, I tried to go back to my normal routine.  Business as usual.  But my body-mind-spirit was not ready and I only paid attention to that inner voice crying for attention and more time to make sense of what I went through each time my body caved in: diarrhoea after eating tuna sandwich which I myself carefully prepared, colds and flu-ish feelings that left after a good night's rest and some natural food supplements, headaches and neck pains that would radiate to my arms so that even brushing my teeth was painful at some point. Again, the dynamics of self-abuse, of not paying attention to my needs until I'm left with no choice.  

My inner elephant.  As I look more contemplatively at the picture of the ruins above, I notice the elephant sculpture that survived the earthquake.  I felt drawn to check on elephant emotions on Google and found an interesting piece of work by Daphne Sheldrick, https://www.sheldrickwildlifetrust.org/html/elephant_emotion.html.  In the article, Sheldrick said that elephants "have a memory that far surpasses ours and spans a lifetime. They grieve deeply for lost loved ones, even shedding tears and suffering depression. They have a sense of compassion that projects beyond their own kind and sometimes extends to others in distress. They help one another in adversity. . . ."  

A capacity to hold memories without running away from these.  Compassion extending even to those beyond their own kind and even while they themselves are also going through adversity.  Grieving deeply. 

I suddenly feel an affinity with elephants and wonder if this image of the elephant will guide me through my own healing journey.  Can I allow myself to grieve deeply enough?  Can I let my grief and well of emotions to lead me to a deep sense of compassion and connection to others and to the bigger world instead of allowing these to alienate and numb me?  Is this experience reminding me of my vocation:  to bring healing where I am?  Trauma healing work beckons - not just for my own healing journey but as part of the bigger mission I've always felt called to. Can I listen to that somewhat disturbing voice, too?  

I am quieting down.  I am slowing down. I am listening to all the inner voices calling to me now -no matter how unsettling some of the messages are.  I am digging deeper into my inner Self to replenish my inner well.  One day I'll feel with all me what I now know only with my head - there is gift in trauma.