I long to come home. To the way things were.
Only here’s the problem… sometimes I click my heels and get back home, only to realize that home doesn’t feel the same anymore. Home looks different. It’s a skeleton or façade of what it used to be, and some new tenets have moved in… everything is different. This body, this house, these people that I love, everything that I thought I was working so hard to come back to has changed while I was in oz.
When we’re in recovery from something I think we focus a lot on what we’re recovering from. I’m more interested in what I’m recovering to. The idea/metaphor of home is what I’m recovering to. But if home may not be home anymore, then what are we working so hard to come back to, and is it worth it?
My most recent setback has been this sprained ankle. A new experience layered apon many other setbacks and recoveries. I want to do hard-core competitive recovery… I want to do do do. I want to feel like I have some control of how fast I come back. I want to use stim therapy, hot/cold pools, ultrasound, acupuncture, massage...
I went into a bike shop yesterday, and tell the guy at the counter what I’m doing to recover… he says, oh ya, that’s Type A recovery. In that moment I realize I’m trying to recover the same way I got injured. Where’s the lesson?
The etymology of the word recovery comes from the 11th Century French “come back, return, get again,” and the 13th Century Ango-French “to regain consciousness.”
This has as much to do with my values and motivations as it does my body. First it’s about knowing what I’m coming home to, and second it’s about the process of coming home. And trying to do all of that differently than the tornado that swept me away in the first place.
1. What am I coming home to? Potentially a new body and life. I will have lost a lot, and a effected body, heart, and mind lay in the wake. But the resilience and potential to create something new, of value, authentically and unabashedly me is what sits in the void of potential.
2. The process of getting home is by “regaining consciousness.” By staying awake, no matter how hard it hurts. By being brave. By feeling the pain, because it means I’m coming home, to my new home. By being soft, slowing down, resting, and being quiet so I can listen. Shhh. Living in the integration, not missing any of it. This process is what teaches us.
Before I had a palace that I never fully appreciated, a body that did what I wanted it to and performed to the utmost degree. I come back now to see that I have a humble home with a few shingles falling off on the outside… but the fire inside has a Phoenix rising in it. And I’m awake.
Recovery isn’t so much an ending to something, as it is a beginning. For me I realize it’s about integrating the home of the past, and creating the home of the future. Shedding tears for what has been painfully lost, pulling up my big girl pants, and clicking those heels into the future with massive curiosity and excitement about where I land. Less Victim more Co-creator. I’m pretty sure that my wildest dreams can’t imagine the world I’m recovering into. And I have every reason to believe that home will be more evolved because of the series of tornados, witches, and flying-monkeys I’ve come through.
So I click my heels, slowly, wisely, listening to each click, knowing that I’m being taken to my new home and I want to experience it all. Click click click.