Resilience, Bravery and Rebirth…
I live in Texas. This past winter we experienced what we refer to as an “Iceapocalypse.” A terrible weather event that, in our area alone, saw 10.5 million trees damaged and 31% of our total canopy affected. Walking precipitously throughout our neighborhood once the four-day ice storm passed, we felt we were amid a war zone. The devastation was unimaginable.
The heart-breaking loss of our ancient Oaks, giant Cedars, and gorgeously beautiful Bradford Pears and Crepe Myrtles cut deeply into the collective moans. The neighborhood, named after the extraordinary and bent trees that lined every street and cove, now felt broken, cracked, and grounded.
The sound of chainsaws filled our ears for months as one tree after another was cut to the ground. The ice robbed them of life. We saw limb after limb being chopped into dusty fodder, leaving the bareness of the tree vulnerable to the elements. Would the trees ever return to their old majestic stature clothed in velvety green shading all who walked beneath her wings?
The ice-storm had been the painful event that hurt, but the wounds were what was left behind in the belly of the trees. Just as the past abuse I, and perhaps we, have experienced were individual events; the wounds are what I, and perhaps we, are left with stuck in the belly of our bodies.
Dr. Gabor Mate, trauma specialist, describes trauma as: “a psychic wound that hardens you psychologically that then interferes with your ability to grow and develop. It pains you and now you are acting out of pain. It induces fear and now you are acting out of fear. Trauma is not what happens to you, it is what happens inside you as a result of what happened to you.”
As I walked around the trouble tree this afternoon, several months past “Iceapocalypse,” the magic of Spring drew me in. Spring’s compelling picture of rebirth heralded me as birds serenaded royally and triumphantly announcing the return of life. As I lifted my gaze towards the sky, I was overcome by the new green, the new life, sprouting from these trees I had left for dead. The ones I thought had lost their “ability to grow and develop;” and, yet, there they were free of the internal wound that had left them scarred and bare. They had released the event, and they had found the courage to push through the tough stuff and grow again. They found new ways to let their beauty shine forth. They were resilient.
I pondered this resilience. I pondered this bravery. Could I grow new branches, sprout differently, discover a beauty deep inside free from the deep wounds I hold so close to the vest?
As I pondered this great mystery, tears began to cascade down my cheeks. I realized I had been renewing my vow with life repeatedly. From one season to the next I have held hands with the elements that once crushed me and now hold me. I have learned to acknowledge my feelings and hold them. I have learned not to run from the hard stuff, but breathe into it fully. I have learned to hold another and myself. I have learned to move. I have learned to breathe. I have learned self-compassion and compassion for the other. I have stood shaking in the dark and been able to find my way back. I have practiced mindfulness and shared my soul with others.
We have done all these things together these last many months. In doing so, we have held hands and called one another “friend.”
Embracing the brilliance of these trees to find rebirth in Spring, I breathed deeply and recognized my brilliance shining through providing warmth to those passing by. I am brave. I am resilient. I am Spring renewed. We are Spring renewed.
Let us color our toolbox a vibrant new green symbolizing our pushing through the scar tissue of our internal wounds; finding the beauty once thought dead now reborn.
Until next time, friends.