“He heals the brokenhearted
And binds up their wounds.”
Psalm 147:3 (NASB)
I have experienced emotional healing. It is real and a journey worth taking—worth every anguishing moment, costly dollar, and painful tear spent on it.
In the instant I was healed the engine that had been racing inside me for over fifty years stopped. It. Just. Stopped. A peace flowed over me. The weight of the world that I’d been carrying all those decades fell away.
For the first time in my life I felt free. I was unshackled from past events and behaviors that were thrust on me without my permission.
I felt healed and whole.
The Work
It took over a year of weekly counseling, and then a deeply honest and angry moment by myself to reach that point of healing.
Prior to this I struggled with personal relationships and ignored the emotional turmoil I allowed to build up inside me.
From a young age I had raced through life. I was always several steps ahead of everyone else—personally, professionally, and even in sports. I pushed people hard and pushed myself harder.
I didn’t know how to be in the moment, to stop and smell those roses in full bloom all around me. In my world, that would have been an absolute waste of time.
Feeling The Feelings
“What do you feel?” she asked.
That’s one of the first questions that my counselor, Jane (not her real name), asked me. For several sessions I would simply respond, “I don’t know. I just feel.”
Jane would smile and laugh, but her eyes said, “Oh, John, you have a lot of work to do…”
Being able to honestly express my feelings was the first hurdle I needed to overcome. In my experience, this is foundational to emotional healing,
Before we can turn back time and pull up traumatic events from our youth and pre-verbal days we need to be able to express feelings in the here and now, in our everyday walk of life.
That’s the process Jane took me through. Very methodically. Very slowly. Very caringly.
Trauma 1 – The Little Boy On The Stool
I had two childhood traumas that I needed to face. The first was abuse by a babysitter when I was two or three. A relative told me many years ago that this had happened, though without any details. I didn’t have any recollection of it nor believe that it affected me. It was basically a non-event.
Jane proved me wrong.
The memory of abuse may disappear, but the wound doesn’t. The wound remains and haunts us and harms us until we deal with it.
Those who experience this type of abuse at such an early age are powerless to stop it. In turn, we stop trusting others. With the belief that we can’t trust anyone to help us, we go into self-preservation mode and take control of our own life. Which means we control others’ lives as well.
Jane, through her God-given gift of healing, took me back to a specific event during this time in my young life.
I was sitting on a small stool in the kitchen of our home and someone—an adult—was hovering over me. It was a dark scene. Too dark for a little boy to endure. I was definitely scared—both as that little boy and as a grown man in that counselor’s office.
With my eyes closed, Jane began to carefully lead me in allowing that scene to unfold in my mind. But I stopped her. It was too much. I was too afraid of what might happen, and even more so, who it might be.
Rescuing That Little Boy
Two months later I finally told Jane that I was ready to let the memory play out. And she gently led me through it.
I made it through the memory, but not without re-experiencing the abuse. I now understand the trauma of it. Something no child, no matter the age, should ever experience.
And I didn’t see a face, which I imagine is good news.
As we wrapped up that counseling session, I told Jane the little boy was still sitting there. On that stool. By himself. Waiting for the abuse to happen again.
She allowed me to continue the session a little longer. And we rescued that little boy.
I talked to him and told him that it wasn’t his fault, that he hadn’t done anything wrong. That he didn’t deserve what happened to him. And that he was safe now with me.
I took him by the hand and helped him from that stool, where he’d been left alone for over fifty years.
He let go.
That little boy stayed with me for the next few days. I felt him. He was right beside me—in the car, at home, at work. He was rescued. And safe. Finally.
Trauma 2 – Betraying My Dad
In order to fully heal emotionally, I needed to betray my dad. At least it felt like a betrayal.
One of the most difficult things I’ve ever done in my life was cross that line. It took Jane literally months to get me there.
Don’t get me wrong. I loved my dad. Adored him, even. But he was so distant. We really didn’t have a relationship. And I can honestly say that in the 43 years we were on this earth together we never had a conversation. We talked a lot about sports, and the weather, and Iowa (home to him), but nothing any deeper.
There was a lot I needed from my dad but rarely, if ever, got—time with him, actual conversations, doing guy things together like playing catch or hunting, effort on his part to actually get to know me, his hand on me guiding, leading, and teaching me.
This lack of relationship from my dad always felt like rejection. And it hurt.
But that’s when the healing happened. Once I crossed that line of betrayal. Once I finally allowed myself to get mad at him for not being the father I needed him to be.
The Tipping Point
I realized that my dad, even into his 60’s, and with many opportunities to begin a real conversation with me, failed to do so. He continued to avoid it. Avoid me. Ignore me.
But I had done it myself. I had such a conversation with my son. It was hard and took courage. The fact that I did it for my son but my father didn’t do it for me made me mad. Raging mad. That avalanche of anger poured out of me—anger that had been bottled up for over four decades.
And then it happened.
In the middle of my tirade aimed squarely at my dad, I watched in my mind’s eye as a sledgehammer fell down into a turbine. It hit the spinning bladed and wedged itself in tight. The engine stopped. It. Just. Stopped. Stopped spinning. Stopped racing. Stopped raging.
I still see the image. It returns to me often, reminding me of the moment I was healed, the moment that quiet and calm and peace entered my life.
Smelling The Roses
I smell roses every day now. Maybe even too much on some days. But what a joy it is to be free of that engine racing inside me, and to be free from the events that little boy carried with him, by himself, all those years.
Have you struggled with relationships? With anger? Do you work to hide your feelings? Or push them down? Or ignore them? Do you push people away? Have you been open and honest with your wife about what is happening inside you? Can you express out loud what you are feeling right now, at this very moment?
***
