Love is a Wave
When I was in my late twenties/early thirties I went to group therapy. It was to help me with social anxiety. I wasn't anxious with this group because we all had social anxiety, and so I had no anxiety with the group at all...it was only in my outside life that I struggled, so I'm not sure why I was there.
We were a group of six women at various stages in our life. There was one woman with lots of dark hair, strong features ,and heavy make up..she looked like a toned down version of a mafia wife.
There was a woman recovering from breast cancer who was really angry, and a middle aged woman who grew up in a violent household. There was a woman about my age who had been sexually abused by her grandfather who happened to be a preacher, and a French woman, also a nurse, who was in a celibate marriage that somehow managed to produce a child.
I remember the angry woman with breast cancer talking about how our wounds connected us. How the unifying factor amongst us were that we were all wounded. An image of a pack of dogs laying in a circle, licking each others wounds came to mind. But what happens when you lick your wounds? They don't heal. They get worse. You "worry" them, they worry you. It becomes compulsive habit. You become absorbed in your wounds, the outside world becomes unimportant, your wounds are too great. Wounds divide. They separate us from ourselves, from those around us. We focus on them, like a sleuth with a magnifying glass, and they become bigger.
Love connects. Love heals gaping wounds. Love is expansive. Love unites . Love heals. Love is a wave.
We were a group of six women at various stages in our life. There was one woman with lots of dark hair, strong features ,and heavy make up..she looked like a toned down version of a mafia wife.
There was a woman recovering from breast cancer who was really angry, and a middle aged woman who grew up in a violent household. There was a woman about my age who had been sexually abused by her grandfather who happened to be a preacher, and a French woman, also a nurse, who was in a celibate marriage that somehow managed to produce a child.
I remember the angry woman with breast cancer talking about how our wounds connected us. How the unifying factor amongst us were that we were all wounded. An image of a pack of dogs laying in a circle, licking each others wounds came to mind. But what happens when you lick your wounds? They don't heal. They get worse. You "worry" them, they worry you. It becomes compulsive habit. You become absorbed in your wounds, the outside world becomes unimportant, your wounds are too great. Wounds divide. They separate us from ourselves, from those around us. We focus on them, like a sleuth with a magnifying glass, and they become bigger.
Love connects. Love heals gaping wounds. Love is expansive. Love unites . Love heals. Love is a wave.
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