I learned years ago that what is the most personal is also the most
universal. By disclosing to another human being our deepest secrets, we tell
the story of humankind, sing the song of the ancients, and create the poetry of
the soul. In baring the darkness within us, we find healing from past pain of relationships gone wrong, and in its place, light, and companionship.
I encourage you
to reach out more often to those who prove trustworthy and disclose more of your
core self, including those locked-away secrets that may be keeping you from disclosing your self (strengths and weaknesses, talents
and foibles, achievements and mortifications) to go deeper
than usual with the one you love, the partner in whom you seek a heart-to-heart
reciprocity. You learn that together you can transcend life’s painful
episodes—past and present; those humiliating events that might have conquered
you but for your redemptive sharing.
Sled Ride Into Hell
My most humiliating experience occurred during a winter day of
after-school sledding. I knew every inch of my neighborhood block from playing
kick-the-can during the summers and sculpting snowmen on frosty days like this
one.
Cheeks flushed against the cold and trembling with excitement, I stand
in line with three other boys who wait their turn to dive through the air, land
on sleds, and race to the bottom of the snow-packed hill. My turn comes up and
I giggle uncontrollably when body and sled unite for another wild ride.
I gather myself at hill’s bottom in preparation for the trek back up,
when I see five boys forming a curtain of bodies around me. Jimmy, the
sixth-grade classmate that I remember for his marvelous drawings in art class,
emerges from the circle, hands gyrating in boxer fashion. Is he playing some
kind of joke?
Just then a fist whips out and connects solidly with my eye. Three
blows follow hard after. I dizzily try to find him in my vision, but he is
dancing around. The street itself looks tilted, like I’m in an elevator in an
earthquake. More hammer blows sting my cheeks, nose, and chin.
Only when I taste the grit of dirty snow mingled with broken teeth do I
grasp that I have fallen. I am in a place where I’ve never been, face numb and
throbbing. But where are my legs? My arms? My hands? I can’t find them.
Something wells up inside, from a place I didn’t know existed: a silent
scream against having my dignity stripped away. This energy compels me to find
my body parts and animate them. I crawl on all fours. Standing up, wobbling, I
find Jimmy in my blurry field of vision.
The next half dozen blows I neither see nor hear, and wouldn’t even
know about had not bystanders later told me. Mercifully, blackness swallows me
like a snake swallowing a fish. I go into the snake’s belly, not having anywhere
else to hide.
When I come to, the world looks red. Two neighborhood friends have
heaved shoulders under each of my arms and are dragging me home. My body feels
foreign and out of joint. It’s not the physical pain, primarily, that feels so
alien, but the humiliation of having not defended myself, the horror of having
no answer to Jimmy’s evil assault.
A Real and Present Liberation
Here is what I’m driving at: it is precisely through retelling and
reliving our stories that our isolation, and the evil embedded in our memories,
is overcome. Every transparent disclosure cleanses and dresses old wounds until
such time as we are substantially healed. Healing requires transcending fear
and shame, and recovering our lost dignities.
So if you are prepared to listen, I will tell you about Delta.
That night Mom uses scissors to snip off my undershirt, to avoid
pulling it over the cuts on my face. Dad retires to his den, grumbling about
having a son who can’t hold his own in a fight.
I crawl into bed, my mind playing mental movies of flashing lights,
falling bodies, derisive sniggers, and banging blows. I curl into a ball,
cringing. A consoling image vies with the ghostly collage until it comes into
focus. It is my girlfriend Delta’s face.
Delta is my fledging attempt at having a girlfriend, my fifth and sixth
grade flame. We talk at night on the phone and sometimes hold hands during
recess. She has a ponytail, blue eyes, and a smile that tickles my insides.
Though I don’t want to go to school tomorrow wearing my raccoon black
eyes and purple bruises, I will go. Delta will help me through this terrible
pain. She will know that I am actually quite courageous; it’s just that nobody
ever taught me how to fistfight. She will understand that I was ambushed and
overwhelmed, and unlike my dad, she will not hold this against me. I drift into
a restless sleep, grasping the image of her warm hug.
The next morning at school I arrive late. The whole
class, even the teacher, leer at my puffed-out face. I scrunch down in my seat
low enough to become invisible.
An eternity later the buzzer sounds. Everyone tears
out of the room for the playground. I stay behind waiting for Delta to miss me
out there, gasp when she learns what happened, and come running down the
hallway to find me.
After five minutes, I peep out and the hall is
empty. Another five minutes and the buzzer sounds. The first boy into the room,
Terry, runs up to me breathless, and blurts, “Delta thinks you’re a coward.
She’s broken up with you. She doesn’t want you to call her anymore.”
Baring the Heart Cleanses the Soul
So let me wrap this up by saying what you know from your own life
experience. While there are plenty of
evils inherent in living and loving, those evils are most effectively overcome
by baring the heart and cleansing the soul, by disclosing your pain to a
trusted person whose gracious understanding brings you back to social
solidarity.
Over the years I’ve risked sharing my inner life many times, and have
many times received healing and encouragement. If this weren’t true, I’d be titling this blog, “How to Avoid Pain in One Easy Lesson: Clam Up.” I want
to support you in your search for inner healing. I want to say:
“Whatever pain
you’ve secretly endured, go ahead and share it, so that you can keep finding
the courage to love again.”
