Tag: woundedhealer

My First and Greatest Love

June 3, 2018

For those of you that know me, family has always been a main part of my life, and a major part of my identity. Coming to terms with impact of my family break-down and subsequent events, the blessings and challenges has continued to be an ongoing journey. For years I have tried to make sense of my inner battles, trying to make sense of the tornadoes that whirl up inside of me, a complex mix of sadness, grief, hopefulness and above all, a desire to survive whilst painting the most beautiful and glorious portrait of my family.

More recently I have returned to therapy to process my last relationship, and of course, without surprise, we end up back at the beginning, my family. Not to blame, or cast resentment or anger, but to try and heal loss and sadness, conflict and fear established before I knew how to name these emotions. This has sent me on a sobering journey of hurt, unresolved loss and wholehearted grief over what I would easily identify as the loss of my greatest love.

……………………..

And so, it turns out I never really got over the way we separated. A decision drawing dividing lines between us. I always thought we would be together forever, grow old together, still singing the songs of our childhood, Friday night Chinese school and dinners out, taking turns picking video rentals at Rogers, Mario party and Mario kart until the morning, sleepovers at the foot of mom and dad’s beds, annual vacations to the most magical and happiest place on earth. Not because of the rides, or even the fireworks, because I was with you guys, we were together and my world felt complete.

But then everything changed.

We were no longer one unit, unspoken walls and vast divides grew between us. We each saw and experienced the breakdown differently, and what felt like magical fantastical reality of us as a family, was broken into a million pieces, never to look the same again. And so we all walked our separate directions, some farther than others, tearing apart that world we once built together and fought so hard to preserve and enjoy together.

I swear, I thought I understood. I thought I had accepted it. All that it was, and all that it was not.

I watched it unfold before my eyes. I did everything I could. But it had already been lost, and my inability to accept the new harsh reality perhaps created the biggest distance from you all. As life continued for everyone else, in acceptance of what had happened, I did everything in my power to preserve my portrait of us and remain in denial about what had happened, pushing you all together to try to recreate even a fleeting moment of “us”.

Our beautiful family, as I had known it, would never exist the same way again.

It turns out that the little girl in me had held on tight to everything. So much that every Christmas or holidays that we were under one roof after the separation, I would weep quietly to myself, half grieving as my adult self, and half rejoicing as that young girl, trying to convince myself that we were still a unit, we were still a family. Fighting the reality of passing time, diverging interests, growing up and apart. I found my own way to hold us together, omitting all the difficult times, and over-emphasizing the positive.

But now I see. We weren’t perfect, we never were. And now, we just are what we are.

But I now see us clearly. I can see everything. The magic, the joy, the hurt, the pain, the disappointment, the unspoken things, the sacrifice, the hope, the love and the permanent tie that will always continue to hold us all together, no matter what happens.

And now that I can see us clearly. Grief speaks; weighing heavily on my heart and mind.

But finally, I know that I can love us better for what our family is today. Not as I had always pretended us to be.

Somewhere in Between

November 11, 2017

It was all just like a dream, except I never fell asleep… I was there, felt your love, connected with the people closest to my heart, visited the places of my past, the building blocks of who I am today; my childhood home, highschool, church, where we used to bike as a family… All my favourite places to be, my favourite restaurant and foods, my favourite places to play ball and spend time with friends, my favourite place to sit by the dyke to take in life and pray.

I was here. I lived here. The life I built lives on, it is still here, and exists, in the hearts of the people that remember me.

However, now, there is this other “reality of life” I have built, on the other side of the world. It co-exists. It thrives. It is forever in competition with the memories of what I had when I left home almost two years ago.

Most days, my life here brings dynamism, growth, adventure and richness to my soul. But some days, like today, in the midst of loss and heartbreak, it feels like I exist somewhere between two places. The pieces of my heart, scattered in between both. And I can’t help but wonder if I will ever be able to put all these pieces back together. Or will my heart forever be torn. Desperately and hopelessly trying to connect two realities, that are forever destined to be on opposite sides of the world.

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Be with me Lord.

As my world crumbles around me

Uphold me. Strengthen me.

As my heart breaks for her.

My entire being urges me to go home and hold her together.

Be with me Lord.

Settle my mind’s anxieties.

Bring me calmness and peace.

You brought me here.

I am meant to be here.

Uplift me. Give me your wisdom and understanding.

Help me to trust.

Be with me Lord.

Rebuild me from the inside out.

Bleeding out

March 28, 2017

So I pulled the plug, not because I gave up hope, not because I stopped loving you, but because loving you, caring for us, was poisoning my spirit. I could slowly feel your false truths sink in; that I wasn’t self reliant enough, I wasn’t centered in God enough, that I wasn’t accepting enough, that I overthink too often, that I reach out for support too often, that I’m too demanding, not flexible enough, not willing to compromise my physical boundaries enough. All of it. The ways you chipped away at me slowly… when you only had access to these most vulnerable parts of me because I trusted you and let you in, thinking you were my safe place.

But with every piece of me that I entrusted you with, you threw back at me like daggers. Ripping into my very core, in a way that I could feel every jagged edge cut into me. And I stayed for the onslaught, naively thinking that if you saw me bleed out, and not return a single attack, that maybe, just maybe you would see me again, in my wholeness, fragility, flawedness, and full of the desire to love you through the hurt, through the damage, through the pain and the wreckage. But you wouldn’t have it. And you wouldn’t see me. You were looking, but you weren’t seeing me.

And until the very end, I continued to be your enemy. Seeing my wounds did nothing for you. As if seeing me bleed made you feel better, somehow less alone in your misery. So, helplessly, powerlessly, painfully, I watched this spectacular story of us fade into the shadows. We lost us. Just like that, everything up in smoke. And once again, I am left here alone, picking up the pieces and re-building myself, in the safety of a space without you.

The week I felt everything I left behind…

August 25, 2016

The Day Dad Left.

I never quite felt the tug on my heart strings to return to Vancouver like when my dad left. Seeing the plane come in, waiting with him at the airport, feeling like the comfort, familiarity and safety of having him here was all about to be torn away… was terrifying and unnerving. He turned and asked if I was coming home, and it filled my eyes with tears, both knowing that he wasn’t just joking, and both knowing that I couldn’t. But when he asked me, my heart immediately sank, as the world I had left behind flashed before my eyes; my friends, family, and all familiar places I loved back home. I had left it all, for here. This was home now. And I was here, on my own, alone.

The first time I ever saw my dad cry was today. Wishing me well, telling me he was proud before he left, as he kissed me on my forehead and we stood there in tears in an embrace that pained me to end. Regardless of everything, he was my dad and always would be.

And when his plane took off, for the first time, since I’ve been here, I could feel everything that I had left behind, and then grief and fear overtook me. I broke down into uncontrollable tears.

What had I done? Was it all worth while? And why, did it suddenly all feel so hard?

A Letter to my Demons

Today I wept 3 times, trying to cope with an immense sense of emptiness and loneliness. I am all over the place, feelings of sadness for being here alone, leading to dark thoughts telling me its because no one wants to join me on this adventure, or be with me, all the way to feelings of shame for my decision, feelings stupid and weak for my choice to come here, fearing judgement from those that I only like to show my strong side to, feeling fear about my visa and stress about work. Perhaps for the first time in a long time, I miss familiarity, I miss comfort, maybe today was the first day I can let myself say, “I miss home, I miss my family. I miss the people that know me, and I miss the places that bring me warmth and comfort. And that is okay”.

Because it doesn’t take away from now, I don’t regret the choices I made, why do I even feel the need to say that? Perhaps I fear your judgement. That the way to measure success is to feel joy everyday after you’ve made a decision. I’m afraid that that you might say “I told you so”, “I knew she couldn’t do it”, “I knew it’d sink in eventually.” That you would think I was any less courageous. But then, I would tell you, but I did do it. Already moved. And that how I feel or think right now does not define me. I am more than my insecurities, fears and doubts. I am more than my life choices and accomplishments. I am dynamic, multi-dimensional and ever-evolving. I am allowed to be courageous and afraid, strong and fragile, confident and insecure all at the same time.

I know who I am and I won’t let you take that way from me.

The Boy with the Kite

May 8, 2016

I was on the beach the other day, as a young boy, perhaps 5 or 6 years old arrived on the beach with his father. In his hand, the young boy held a small blue kite with a long blue and red ribbon tail, trailing behind him on the beach as he walked. The boy was bursting with excitement, filled with anticipation, happily skipping through the sand, eager to release the kite; to see it fly and disappear into the clouds, to see his hopes come true, I imagine it was a moment he had been looking forward to the whole drive down to the beach.

You could tell the boys impatience, as he jumped eagerly next to his father, who was carefully unraveling and preparing the kite for the young boy. Every moment waiting, seemed unbearably long, every moment took away from what the boy had been hoping for so badly. Even I could hardly wait for the moment, on his behalf. So, when the boy’s father finally released the kite into the wind, the boy squealed, filled with joy, excitement and awe. It was his kite, he would make it fly, it would soar, he would be successful. Even I had hoped, that due to the windy-ness of the day, the kite would soar into the wind immediately after being released, and I would get to see the sense of accomplishment on the boy’s face, I would feel the same joy and excitement for him.

But today, the wind was coming from all directions, and no matter how many times the boy and his father released the kite, inevitably, moments after taking off into the air, the kite would come crashing down. And still the boy kept trying, hoping, and wishing that each time, the outcome would be different; that the kite would take off and keep flying up into the clouds. The boy would try epic sprints across the beach, as fast as his little legs could carry him, trying to release the kite with speed, he even tried standing on his tippy toes in hopes of helping lift the kite higher into the air, and each time, still with the same bounce and excitement in his step, hoping that this was the time it would work.

What the boy did not understand yet, in his beautiful innocence and naivety, was that regardless of his efforts, his enthusiasm, his hopes, and his numerous trials, the circumstances and conditions were never going to be right, at least not right now, not in this moment. No matter how much time he gave it, or attempts at different approaches, it would not fly. And it was not because he had not tried hard enough, that boy loved his kite, he had tried everything, multiple times. that kite just was not meant to fly today. And it was something that he had to accept. Something that he had to come to understand, that it did not make him a failure, it did not mean he had not tried hard enough, it just was not his time, not today. He would have to trust that his time would come.

And so, the father and his son left the beach, they would try again another time.

What does this story make you think about? What aspects of your life did it bring up for you? What moments could you relate to it? (Leave me a comment below and let me know! Would love to hear your thoughts and invite you to be vulnerable.)

I wrote this in a moment of deep disappointment, grief and loss over a relationship. Having maintained high hopes for an outcome, feeling like I had poured everything I had into making my own kite fly, every effort, everything in my power to make it go where I wanted it to. Only to realize some important things in my “failed attempt”, that there are the things I can control in life, and the things that I cannot, and must accept. I can only control the choices I make, how much time to invest, how much more effort to put in, what to build my kite with, if you will and that I cannot control the other aspects of life, like other people, life circumstances, timing of life, or which direction the wind will blow and how the kite will fly. And that I must find acceptance in that, or I will not have peace.

I will try and try and try, and feel like I have failed, or even worse, that I am a failure. But this is not the truth, knowing what is within my control is just as important as knowing what is not. And with this understanding, comes a sense of relief and acceptance. There are times to take accountability and responsibility for things that happen, and there is a time to sit in difficult, heart-wrenching moments of grief, loss and sadness, and let them pass… trying not to blame myself for things not working out, and trusting that my time will come, that things are as they need to be, and all will work out as it should.

“There are things that we don’t want to happen, but have to accept.

Things we don’t want to know, but have to learn.

and people we can’t live without, but have to let go.”