by Heather Plett | Feb 20, 2013 | Beauty, grief, hope, Uncategorized
I wanted to find hope again. I really, REALLY longed for it.
I wanted to have some hint of what it will be like when I no longer feel buried under the grief of Mom’s death and the added trauma of Marcel’s heart attack and the accompanying financial stress, extra workload on my shoulders, etc., etc.
I know that “this too shall pass”. It’s what I cling to every time I find myself spiralling down into the hard places in life. “I’ve been through this before. I know that I can survive. It will get better.”
When I found the necklace in Ten Thousand Villages, I knew that I’d found my symbol of hope. It’s a tree of life, crafted by artisans in Cambodia out of the shell casings of bombs that litter the countryside. Perfect. Creating something beautiful out of destruction, loss, and grief. Making the land safe again by cleaning up the unexploded land mines and making them into jewellery. Hope out of hardship. Sounds pretty close to what I specialize in.
“…and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.” (Isaiah 2:4)
I texted Marcel a photo of the necklace. “Don’t you want to buy me something for Valentine’s Day?” I asked. Sure enough, he did. He was in the store later that day and the necklace was mine. I was delighted.
Not only was it a little bit of hope to wrap around my weary neck, it felt like a new trademark for the work I do with clients. “You too can find beauty in the grief and destruction of your lives. You can rise out of the brokenness and be courageous, resilient, and authentic. You can find deeper connection and more honest stories when you clean up the land mines and turn them into necklaces.”
And then, two days later, the necklace was gone. I stood in the bookstore bathroom, looking down at the chain on the floor. There was no tree of hope attached anymore. Somehow, somewhere, it had slipped off my neck.
I searched everywhere, but it was nowhere to be found.
Instead of holding my head up high and telling myself it was “just a necklace,” I took a nosedive into self-pity and hopelessness. “What the hell, universe? Do you hate me? Do you really want to take away the one thing that was giving me a bit of hope in all of this hardship?”
It was on my dad’s birthday that I lost my necklace. He would have been 79. Right there in that bookstore washroom (where I returned after retracing my steps throughout the store and into the parking lot), I sat and wept for all of the losses and grief stories in my life. The necklace was just the symbol (and the proverbial straw that broke this camel’s back) of everything else that has been lost in the last dozen years – my dad, my mom, my son, nearly my husband (twice)… and so many more, smaller losses. I wept and wept and let myself feel the weight of all of that grief.
And then the next morning, on my way to work, I had a car accident. Yes, really.
It was a minor car accident and nobody was hurt and there is only very minor damage to my car, but it felt like my whole world had fallen apart.
I sat in my office and cried some more. And raged at God. And cried some more. And raged. And cried. And then I got up, and moved my body a little, said a little prayer of gratitude that I hadn’t been hurt… And then… somehow… I carried on. I finished preparing for the workshop I had to deliver yesterday and then went out to the rural town where I was delivering it. I sat in circle with the women in the leadership program I’m co-hosting, and I let the conversation and the compassion in the room offer me a little bit of healing.
When I got home late last night, Marcel met me at the door holding a tiny silk package. Inside was another tree of hope necklace. He’d gone back the the store, told them about the clasp that had come undone, and they replaced it.
And now I’m wearing hope around my weary neck again – a neck made newly stiff from a slight case of whiplash, but a neck that is resilient and strong and will continue to hold my head up high when it needs to, and let it fall to my hands in tears when that’s what needs to happen.
I don’t have a neat little bow to tie this post up with. Life hasn’t become magically easy, and I still feel a little shaky and weepy, but this morning I am reminded that the real hope comes not from anything I can buy or wear. The real hope comes from the relationships that support me – my husband who cares enough to replace the necklace (and so much more), strangers at the store who were compassionate enough to believe him, the women in the circle who let me be authentic in their presence, my co-worker who let me be a little more broken apart than usual yesterday, the woman in the accident who thanked me for my courage in standing up to the man who caused the accident but refused to take personal responsibility, my friends who sent kind messages… and God, the source of my strength, who doesn’t promise ease, but promises courage if I dare to trust.
If another tragedy happens tomorrow, I might fall apart again, I might rage and scream and wallow in self-pity, but then I will get up off the floor and continue to make swords into plowshares. Because hope is still worth striving for. And love is still better than war. And light is still better than darkness.
And the tree of life grows best in the compost of the fallen trees of years past.
by Heather Plett | Feb 14, 2013 | Uncategorized
I am rising for the 21 year old girl I was when the man, high on glue, climbed through my bedroom window, held a blade above my head, and raped me.
I am rising for the many, many times since then that I have struggled with intimacy because my first sexual experience was a violent, ugly one.
I am rising because of the way that my culture, religion, and family history taught me not to trust or love my own body.
I am rising because I don’t want any more young women to grow up feeling objectified or unvalued.
I am rising because I don’t want any more young men to grow up feeling like they have to be “tough” to be “real men”.
I am rising because patriarchy has left deep wounds in me and every woman and man on the planet.
I am rising for the young woman in the yellow sari in India whose vulnerable eyes told the story of the betrayal she’d suffered after being sold into sexual slavery and then being told she was no longer worthy of being welcomed back into her family.
I am rising for the bead-adorned young women in Ethiopia who laughed and danced and worked hard in the mud alongside the men, and then suffered (and some died) under the dirty knife that ravaged their genitals.
I am rising for the sister-of-my-heart whose deeply buried memories of childhood sexual abuse have left her staggering and trying to catch her breath.
I am rising because each of us – the billion women who have been victimized – needs to heal and needs to be reminded that we are not alone.
I am rising because there is strength in numbers, strength in our bodies, strength in community, and strength in vulnerability.
I am rising because rape has become a weapon of war, a way to hold onto power, a way to keep women silent, and the way we treat our Mother Earth.
I am rising because our whole planet needs to heal from rape.
I am rising to bring forth the deeply buried feminine that the world so desperately needs right now, not to replace the masculine but to stand alongside in balance and strength.
I am rising for you and for me and for our daughters and for our sons.
I am rising for hope.
Will you rise?
(image credit: https://vimeo.com/49860523)
by Heather Plett | Jan 28, 2013 | grief, growth, Uncategorized
Last Thursday morning, our life was thrown into turmoil again. Marcel woke me up at 3:33 a.m., complaining of chest pains. I rushed him to the hospital, and within a few hours they’d confirmed that he’d had a heart attack and would need a procedure of some kind (either surgery or angioplasty) to open the blockage in his arteries.
Fortunately, they were able to treat it with angioplasty – an amazing procedure in which they push a tube through a hole in the artery in his wrist all the way to the heart, inflate a balloon at just the right spot and install a stent that’s the size of a pen spring. His arteries are flowing the way they’re supposed to again and he just has to take it easy for a month or so to let the damage to his heart heal (plus work on some diet changes that will hopefully help prevent it from happening again).
After bringing him home from the hospital yesterday, I had to dive back into work mode, marking exams and then teaching all day today. Life goes on.
Today, after a full day in the classroom, I came home feeling weak, shaky, and kind of weepy. I think the trauma of this past week is settling into my body. The first thing I did was take a hot bath.
My emotions have run the gamut this past week. Anger that this had to come so soon after losing Mom; frustration that it came just when my business has picked up and I don’t have a lot of time to pause; fear that this could happen again and next time we won’t be as lucky, wonder that modern medicine can do such amazing things; resentment that other people seem to have ease in their lives while mine is full of struggle, gratitude that I have wonderful friends who bring me food, chai, wine, and love; and so on and so on.
This crisis felt doubly hard because I found myself intensely missing my mom all week. Normally, she would have been the first person I would have called, and she would have rushed to the hospital to nurture both me and Marcel. It’s what she did best. I long for her nurturing, and I suppose I always will.
I long for a day when life doesn’t feel this hard. I long for the day when I can write happy posts instead of these heavy ones again and again. I long for ease and abundance – two things that feel illusive right now.
Some day, I might look back and know what this all means, but I’m not at the point yet where I can tell you what lessons I’ve learned from this, or why it feels like I’m being asked to bear so much at once.
Right now, I’m still in the thick of the emotions and the learning will come later. Right now, I’m letting what needs to be felt simply show up without trying to judge it or give it a name.
Tomorrow will be time for learning. Today is time for just being present in what this is.
by Heather Plett | Jan 17, 2013 | Beauty, grace, grief, growth, journey, Uncategorized
This much I can tell you – hard times are going to come your way. Grief, pain, anger, disappointment, hurt, tears – you’ll face them all in this lifetime.
I wish I could promise you otherwise, but my life story bears the truth of what I’ve just said. You will face the death of people you love, you will find yourself lost in the abyss, you will be betrayed by those closest to you, and you will go through periods of devastating self-doubt.
Last night I had a powerful dream that the whole world was falling apart. It was probably a reflection of the many conversations I’ve had with people recently who’ve felt like their worlds were falling apart. In the dream, there was a major catastrophe (something like an earthquake) and there was calamity all over the world. I spent most of the dream trying to find and rescue people who were lost in the damaged world. It wasn’t a stressful act – it was just something that needed to be done.
I know what the dream means. This is my work in the world – helping people navigate their way through broken places in their lives; helping them see the light when they’re lost in the dark. Quite significantly, in the dream I was doing it with the help of my Mom and Dad. Both Mom and Dad have been my torchbearers, and even after their deaths, they continue to help me in this work.
I’ve gotten mad at God sometimes, for not giving me a calling in which I could invite people onto an easy path. Instead, I got the calling to help people navigate in the dark. It’s hard to market the dark path – it just doesn’t sell the same way “ten easy steps” does. Once I finally surrendered to it, though, I realized that my calling is much deeper and more beautiful than the easy one I longed for. This is a good life, despite the pain – and maybe even because of the pain. Light is so much more stunning when you know what darkness looks like.
Here’s what I’ve learned about navigating in the dark:
- You can survive more than you think you can. You’ll hit what you’re sure is rock bottom, and you’ll think “I can’t possibly live through one more hardship”, and then rock bottom will be taken away from you and you’ll be falling again, to a new bottom. You can survive it. Trust the Source of your strength, the God of your understanding, and the strength you need will show up.
- You can fall apart, but that doesn’t mean you’ll be permanently broken. In the cycle of life, deconstruction has to happen before construction can begin. The falling apart is necessary – let it happen. Don’t try too hard to hold yourself together. Old patterns need to die (painful but true) before new patterns can emerge. Think of the seed that needs to crack open for a tree to grow. Yes, it’s painful for that seed, but if it doesn’t crack open, it withholds life.
- Your greatest enemy is the shame of what you’re trying to hide from the world. Shame will cause you to do unhealthy things just to maintain your reputation as a “pulled-together” person. Let go of your image of a pulled-together person and practice letting go of the shame. I say “practice”, because it takes time, effort, and some pretty deep personal work to recognize the shame and gradually let it go. (See Brene Brown’s work or Cath Duncan’s work for more on shame resilience.)
- Let go of any illusion you have that you are in control of what happens. There are many in the self-help world who will tell you that your thoughts attract what comes to you in your life, but if you believe that when hard times come your way, you will be side-swiped by self-hatred in the middle of your grief. You didn’t bring this on. The best you can do is live through it with some measure of grace. And if you don’t always feel full of grace, forgive yourself for that. Let the grace come from some other Source than you.
- As any white-water rafter will tell you, your safest bet is to surrender to the waves and stay vigilant for the rocks and whirlpools. Let the grief happen. Ride it out and do what you can to guide your boat between the rocks, but don’t try to resist it. You can’t stop the river, so you might as well ride with it and trust that it will eventually take you to a place of calm. Embrace the word “surrender”.
- Search for the points of light. Pay attention to those moments when the sunset is particularly stunning, your friend shows up at just the right moment, a breeze kisses your cheek, you’re drawn to a blog post that was just what you needed to read right now, or someone offers to take over a task that’s become too difficult for you. Each point of light is God shining through the darkness. Those tiny points of light will guide you through the darkness until you see the dawn again.
- Trust that this hardship is a deepening of your spiritual journey. Everyone wants an easy path to enlightenment, but nobody gets it. As Caroline Myss reminds us in Sacred Contracts, all of the leaders of the world’s major religions – Jesus, Muhammed, and the Buddha – had to go through times of testing before they could be commissioned into their roles as teachers. Your hardships will deepen your work and take you further into your calling. This I know from personal experience. I would not be doing the work I’m doing today if I hadn’t gone through the loss of my son.
- Reach for other people in the dark. There are people who want to walk with you through this dark place. There are people who can help you see the light. It’s okay to reach for them. You don’t need to do this alone. Darkness is easier to navigate if you find someone holding a flashlight.
- Life won’t always be this hard. When you’re down there at rock bottom and you haven’t seen a pinpoint of light for weeks, you’re going to become convinced that this is all there is to life and you’ll never be free of the pain. I’m not going to tell you that it’s easy or that you have to have faith. (Read Ronna Detrick’s excellent post about faith in the darkness.) I’m simply going to tell you that there will be light again. And the light will have a deeper, richer shine to it than anything you’ve ever seen before.
by Heather Plett | Jan 7, 2013 | Uncategorized
A few days ago, I posted the above photo of a magazine cover on my Facebook page. My comment accompanying the photo was “I detest headlines like this. What’s wrong with the old me?” The photo elicited an interesting discussion about whether or not we should strive to become “new versions of ourselves”.
I’d like to explain myself further because I think this is important.
You don’t need to become a new you.
You are already the exact version of you that you should be.
Especially at this time of year, when the weight-loss and self-help marketers are trying to sell you something to start the year off “right”, you’re going to hear and see a lot of advertising that will try to convince you that you’re not good enough as you are, that you really need to change something about yourself before you’ll be loveable, that you need to be thinner before people will value you, that you need to stop smoking if you want to have any friends, that you need to wear the right clothes before anyone will notice you, etc., etc.
Don’t believe them. You are loveable just as you are. You were created to be a masterpiece-in-progress NOT a do-over.
Don’t get me wrong – I’m not opposed to self improvement and personal growth – if I were, I’d have to get rid of half the books on my bookshelves and quit doing much of my work. I’m committed to personal growth as a lifelong journey and I believe that investment in self-discovery and growth is worthwhile. BUT… I AM opposed to any kind of marketing that tries to tell you that you need to start over again and be someone you never were before.
That kind of marketing tries to sell you something based on your shame stories and the only thing they do successfully is to add to your shame stories. They want you to believe that you are not loveable unless you change something about yourself.
“The strategy of ‘shame’ is one of the most powerful marketing tools in modern times. Fear of being judged by our peers has led to billions of dollars of products being sold.”
The problem is, if you change something about yourself based solely on the “I’m not loveable” storyline in your head, there’s a good chance you’ll end up in a worse place than you started. If you’re only loveable once you lose 50 pounds, then if you fail, you’ll heap even more of the “I’m definitely not loveable because now I’m both overweight AND a failure” shame on your head, and there’s a good chance you’ll soon weigh even more than before.
The only way to make healthy change in your life is if you start with love.
You have to change the storyline to “I can love myself NOW because I am already loveable. I may not be perfect, but my Creator didn’t make a mistake when I was made. I am worthy. Just as I am.”
You have to change your motivation to “I am loveable and worthy and BECAUSE I LOVE MYSELF and trust that God loves me, I want to invest in continued growth.”
I know it’s not easy, if you’ve had an unloveable storyline playing in your head ever since your impressionable pre-teen years, to switch to a “loveable just as I am” storyline. If you really want to make a difference in your life, though, THAT’S the place where you need to invest your energy first before you buy any more weight-loss programs or self-help books.
I’m not suggesting that you become narcissistic or self-centred. I’m simply suggesting that you extend compassion and acceptance to your beautiful, flawed, wounded, unique self before you can find healing or begin to grow.
Start by going inward. Remind yourself of what your passions are, what you hunger for, what you love to do, what you’re good at, and what things make you come alive. Go back to the beginning – to what you remember about yourself as a child. What was your core beauty, right from the start, before you started to believe the lies the media fed you? Who are you when you’re at your most authentic, wild-hearted self? Who is the beautiful you at the centre when the layers of shame get peeled way?
Start by loving the person you always were and always will be. Start by forgiving yourself for carrying the shame stories and letting yourself be convinced you’re not good enough.
Start with love. THAT’s the way to get the new year off to a good start.
One other thing… Here’s something that I’ve been reminded of lately – the same goes for your relationships. If you really want to impact change in your relationships or community, you have to start from a place of unconditional love. You can’t start from the belief that “he/she must change before I can love them” or you will only create more conflict. Start by offering love and acceptance, without any strings attached.
Only in a field of love will anyone (you or the people you love) find the conditions they need to grow and change.
by Heather Plett | Jan 4, 2013 | Uncategorized
Since my kairos moment at the retreat centre a few weeks ago, when I decided that my word for 2013 would be “home”, some really good things have been happening. I’ve spoken of a lot of sadness on this blog for the last few months (and will again – the sadness is far from over). But now it feels like time for a happy post. Here are some of the little blessings emerging out of my heart’s longing for home…
- I have done a lot of cleaning around our home – the bedroom, the basement, the living room, the kitchen. I’ve washed walls and floors, shampooed the carpet, sorted through stacks of papers, and de-cluttered many of the surfaces that tend to hold the things that don’t have a place to belong.
- In a moment of creative inspiration, I tore the dirty fabric off an old lampshade (that we got for a wedding gift 19 years ago) and decoupaged the pages of an old book onto it (see photo above). I absolutely love it and want more of them around the house.
- In another moment of inspiration, I covered the stained and peeled linoleum in my kitchen with peel-and-stick linoleum tiles. It’s not a perfect solution, but hopefully it will last until we can get around to the renovations we’ve been dreaming of. It sure is nice to have a kitchen floor that actually looks clean when it’s washed! (I have a few more ideas to give the countertop and cabinets a bit of a boost too.)
- While cleaning out an old purse to put in the give-away bag, I came across $75 worth of Superstore gift cards and $50 in cash. Bonus! That little windfall will be used to buy a few things to help this home look a little more cozy (like maybe some new curtains for the bedroom).
- I had a lovely home-related dream the night before last in which a favourite teacher/mentor of mine welcomed me into her home. In the dream she lived in a large retreat/teaching space and I wasn’t just being invited as a guest, but as a partner in the work. It felt like a beautiful homecoming for my work – like I’d arrived at a new place of comfort that I am in the right work with the right people. I’ve had a lovely sense of calm since that dream.
- After years of being intrigued with The Work of Byron Katie, I’ve finally dug in more intentionally and am taking a look at some of my old stories to see what might happen if they are not true. It’s already having a transformative impact on me, giving me freedom from some baggage in my relationships, especially my marriage.
- I’ve had some wonderful moments of contentment and hopefulness – a nice change after months of sadness. One came yesterday as I was driving to meet my husband for lunch.
