My friend, author, therapist and philosopher Jeff Brown has a bunch of wisdom to offer; born of both pain and pleasure. He spins out word fusions and mental meanderings like only few I have ever seen. Today was no exception. He posed a train of thought on his Facebook page and invited folks to jump on board:

“While I am a great advocate for owning and healing our shadow, I also recognize the value of doing all we can to find the light where possible. Not the pseudo-light, but the light of true-path, the light of hope, the light of love. I have known a great many individuals who clung to the darkness like a security blanket, cloaking their fear of the light beneath perpetual process and victim-hood. The darkness bypass. It is one thing to go into the shadow treasure-chest in an effort to heal and become more authentic- it is quite another to hide in the shadows and make it our home. May we never forget that once the lights turn off in this life, they are probably staying off for a very long time. Best not to glorify the darkness. Life is a self-defined gift. Once we have done enough work around the shadow, we have a choice. We can either open it to darkness, or we can open it to light. Trauma, or treasure? It’s up to you.”

My immediate response looked like this:

“For me, the process was reversed. I stayed in the light for so long that I got spiritual sunburn. I didn’t want to look at the ‘dark, scary stuff’ and was perpetually avoiding what might have freed me. These days, I am willing to venture into the cave, knowing that the way out is through.”

In my life, that related to the death of my grandmother when I was four years old and the diagnosis of asthma shortly afterward; no surprise since it is symbolically connected to repressed grief. That led me to overcompensate by getting really competitive with myself. I felt I needed to be the proverbial smartest person in the room, achieving high grades, working hard to accomplish goals and being a goody two shoes, so as to impress adults. Speaking of shoes, I was also told I was flat footed and pigeon toed, so for a few years I wore clunky red orthopedic shoes, rather than sneakers and penny loafers that were in fashion then. The upside of it was that I got to do all kinds of footsie exercises. I got really good at picking things up with my toes. My mother and I would lie on our backs and draw alphabet letters with our feet and I would walk barefoot, while standing on tiptoe. A measure of my progress occurred at the pool where I was a competitive swimmer and look at the imprint on the concrete after I had gotten out of the water. Originally, it was hard to see an arch; but after awhile, it became noticeable.

See, right there, I was able to turn lemons into lemon merengue pie. I practice cognitive dissonance as I rationalize that others had it so much worse.  What could I possibly have to complain about?

The next major losses occurred in 1992 when in rapid sequence, I had an ectopic pregnancy- where the fetus develops in the fallopian tube which then ruptures, my husband was diagnosed with Hepatitis C, we lost our house to Hurricane Andrew in Homestead, Florida and with it, a portion of our business. We moved back up to Pennsylvania and six years later, end stage liver disease took his life. Our marriage was what I have come to refer to as ‘paradoxical,’ with a blend of love and loss, caring and chaos. Deep core wounds that spilled out into our relationship came along with the package of sparkling blue eyes and curly red hair. Even as an avowed caregiver, I was unable to fix, save, heal and cure the boo boos. When he died, this then 40 year old widow with an 11 year old son to raise, found it necessary to look within for her own core wounds and take care of them instead. More than 16 years later, I am finding that to be an ongoing process.

In 2010, I became an ‘adult orphan,’ when my mother died. My father had made his exit in 2008. Although I think of them and miss them daily, I have put the grief in a safe place, where, I have rationalized that it can’t harm me. I assure myself that they are happy, safe and together. I remind myself that they lived good, long lives, filled with laughter, joy, love,  as well as tons of people who loved them back. How could I selfishly wish for them to have remained here with me, when now they were free? The therapist/social worker who had guided so many through the grief process often overshadowed the sad little girl whose mommy and daddy were gone.

As if to respond to that ‘spiritual bypass,’ my body reminded me that I what I couldn’t feel, I couldn’t heal. On the third anniversary of my mother’s death, I experienced symptoms of shingles that lasted for a few months. On June 12th of 2014, a heart attack sounded a loud wakeup call, that I needed to pay attention to my own emotional heart longings. A little more than a month later, kidney stones made themselves known and subsequently passed on through; but not without leaving excruciating pain in their wake; that I would not wish on the meanest, nastiest human being on the planet.

I look at photos of myself as a child and question what I would tell her about her life. Would she/I have made different choices if there was an opportunity for a do-over? Can I take her hand and guide her through the darkness so she wouldn’t be ‘a’scared’ to face it? Can I use the shadows to cool down the seething heat, so that I don’t burn out?  Setting up camp in either the darkness or the light for too long can cause a disturbance in the Force. This Jedi in training knows that wisdom lies in using both shadow and illumination to live a life in the light of love.