Reconciliation and Healing With the Pages

Holding the pages of a new book between my fingertips, I suddenly recognize the familiarity and the comfort in doing so. For as long as I can remember, books have always been my constant companion. They have sat under many trees with me. They have wilted from the humidity of the sea air as we sit by the ocean. They have withered from the hours of sun sitting next to the river. They have endured many seasons of weather, environment and of life with me. I have only recently realized how desperately I have been missing them the past two years and am extremely thankful for the reconciliation between us.

The unintended demise of my intimate relationship with books occurred as a result of the immense trauma of losing my brother in such a tragic manner, backhanded by the loss of our home and all of our belongings. I am told countless times how strong I am by the people in my life. I tend to agree to some degree, but I also understand that we all have a certain capacity to what we can handle in life. Though I survived the initial emotional trauma, my brain had hit it’s capacity to process at the level it was prior to the trauma. Trauma is a beast. It rears it’s ugly head in areas we don’t always expect. I have learned quite a bit in the past couple of years about how the brain responds to trauma, hitting some of us harder than others. They say PTSD is somewhat like a bruise in the brain and it can block the normal flow of the brain like a boulder in a river, especially when triggered. I certainly have come to understand what my triggers are and have done a ton of work in learning coping mechanisms that fit my specific needs best. I have signed a soul contract to myself and with God that I will not put my own needs to survive this world in a healthy manner on the back burner anymore. God and I are truly the only ones that know when I am suffering and what paths I need to walk in order to heal. God has reminded me of things revealed to me even in my childhood that were partners to my essence and tools in creating peace within myself. That’s where the books come in.

Growing up in the middle of nowhere forces you to either create your own magic or open your eyes to the magic that surrounds you. I chose to do both. As little as even 5, I would bring my favorite book or my little notebook and crayons out into the woods behind our house and sit for hours. I would go back and forth from reading to writing poetry or a short story for my mom with of course good ol’ crayola illustrations outlining the edges. This stayed with me as a life line to joy, to revelation, to worship, to connection to nature, to manage my anxiety and to a major survival skill to my pain. I remember one time years ago sitting in the emergency room awaiting news I knew I didn’t want to hear and while I disappeared into my book, my mind was at rest. Books have always been that perfect life partner to me in a world of broken relationships. Books have always been waiting to soothe my soul until I unwillingly shut them out and couldn’t receive what for so long that had been freely given to me.

I used to be able to read multiple books at the same time. I would read everything. I read all different types of subject manners. My friends always came to me for book suggestions or to borrow a book from my prize collection. I loved to read for fun as well as to ferociously study topics of the world. Even when I was in School of Ministry I would read my textbooks and then veer off into a few chapters of some type of self-help book or immerse myself into a deep sea of poetry. My brother used to come home late at night after work and tease me by saying; “Oh Lord, she’s at again…” as I was sprawled out on the living room floor surrounded by Jewish timelines, bibles and historical books just for fun. In the middle of writing a paper for school, I usually got distracted by a verse or translation that appeared to me as if in 3D which was proceeded by off-track research into the late hours of the night. I loved reading books full of inspirational quotes and I would remember them word for word. I loved to share them with people whom I walked with on my journey. As a whole, words are treasure to me. They are the gold most search for but never find. Words record the history of the past, reveal the moments of the present and bring hope to the future.

After the trauma, I couldn’t concentrate or retain the words of the pages I was struggling to read. I was in the midst of graduate school for theology and divinity studies when I lost Nathan. The pages of my beloved books suddenly became a source of frustration rather than a mechanism to soothe. The words lost their rhythm. I used to be such a fast reader and now it was taking me hours to read several chapters mainly due to my inability for retention and new need to reread the material. I didn’t understand what was happening, I blamed it on my self diagnosed ADD being in full swing. I thought it was my anxiety. I thought it was the reality of attempting to survive and mend so much pain not only in myself but in my mother and daughter as well. It took the wisdom of experience provided to me by one of my daughter’s precious teachers to help me become clear on why I had lost the ability to read in the way I had always know. She explained to me how the brain can change its ability to read after trauma. After a major life event, she herself had gone from reading novels to only being able to read short stories and newspaper articles. She informed me that it was possible to retrain the brain and fall in love with reading agin but that it would take time and to be patient. That was two years ago. Two years of not being in school and two years of missing my favorite pastime.

In the past few months, I have started reading again. Not just articles like I have been skimming over the past two years but actual books. Books with beautiful stories, histories and teachings. I have begun to study again. I have begun to fly though a book like I once did before with the memories of its’ pages etched into my consciousness. The pages I haven chosen over the years to read have never been by mistake but of purpose. It’s like they found their way to me. We were destined to connect. Their words have led me to a clearing of my own inner understanding. It has taken quite a bit of discipline in following the guidance within me to go to the places my soul has required in order to catch my breath again. I think of all the travel this year and all the doors I had to walk through to bring myself and my brain back to life. What may look like impulsive trip taking has actually been absolutely in order. Nature and God are how I have always found my healing. These adventures were exactly what my spirit needed to heal each and every bruise in my brain. Not to say that those areas aren’t still very tender but the darkness of the bruise is finally lightening up. It is finding its’ way again and I am reaping the benefits of it. Every place this year that I have driven to, flown to, ferried to or hiked to has been an environment in connection with my resurrection. I am rising, book in hand, stronger than ever and so incredibly full of gratitude to be reconnected to my life partner.