Suddenly it all made sense
by Elouise
My heart was broken
Long before the cracks began to show
Holding my breath
To get through harsh punishment
Quiet shallow breathing
To ensure I’m not noticed or called out
Waiting calmly in panic
To hear the nature of my ‘medicine’
Holding back tears
For fear of more or worse punishment
Enduring long terror-filled pauses
Before the onslaught of unpredictable consequences
Heart beating out of my chest
Wondering whether this will ever stop
Floods of adrenalin and cortisol
Coursing through my body like tidal waves
Trapped
Without external fight or flight options
Swallowing fear and anger
Trying desperately to appear docile and compliant
Trying to comfort myself
Without safe advocates or allies to hear my grief and shame
My heart was broken
Long before the cracks began to show
***
My heart issues didn’t begin when I was an adult. They began in childhood. They tell the truth about how I responded to stress. Not good stress, but bad stress.
I didn’t reason my way to this understanding. Instead, I saw the printed record of my irregular heartbeats. Too slow with shallow beats; too fast with unpredictable beats; pausing as though my heart was holding its breath and didn’t know what to do next. That’s because the part that’s supposed to make sure my heart beats normally doesn’t function reliably.
I always thought these patterns began in my adult years. But they did not. They were birthed in early childhood habits that helped me survive shame, humiliation and being silenced.
Rules. Punishments. Constraints. Straight and narrow expectations. I was on my own to figure out how to survive. I did what could, using mental, emotional and physical gymnastics to keep things ‘under control’ even though they weren’t.
Holding my breath, heart beating wildly, barely breathing at all for fear, holding back tears, trapped. As an adult, I’ve experienced all this and more. Definitely not heart-friendly habits or coping mechanisms.
That’s why I burst into tears when I first saw images of my adult heart beating and not beating. Suddenly it all made sense. So I’m coming to terms with this truth about my weary, frightened heart.
I believe this is God’s truth about me, and God’s way for me at this time in my life. As much as I might wish otherwise, I’m learning to walk in it. Not reluctantly or bitterly, but with gratitude, a measure of grace, and hope for today’s young children and teenagers.
Today I began a new med. In early April I’ll get a pacemaker. Beyond that, there will be more meds and whatever comes next.
And then there’s this. I’m surrounded by children, young people and adults who need safe allies but don’t know how to ask for help. All our hearts are at risk if we look the other way or try to minimize what’s happening in secret and before our very eyes. I don’t know what I would do, but I’m willing to find out. Not as a professional, but as an ally.
Thanks for listening, and for choosing not to look the other way as you’re able.
Elouise♥
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 23 March 2016
Photo credit: DAFraser, December 2015
Broken heart puzzle from South Africa
Recently I asked a woman what single thing she was most afraid of. She said, crying in front of my children. I said, you can cry, indeed, when you do, your children will understand very well.
When Jesus said, ‘except that you come to the Kingdom of Heaven like a little child, you cannot come at all.’ He wasn’t being harsh, but reminding us always to be like innocent babes, who are forgiving and kind and see things through clear, beautiful eyes. To a babe, all things are beautiful, unclouded by judgement or fear.
Lots of love, and hugs (((xxxx)))
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Thanks for this kind comment, Fran. I’m a big weeper–in front of almost anyone, including my adult children, my grandchildren, colleagues and students. And, most commonly now, in church. Uncontrollably sometimes. It’s a relief to let the inner turmoil become visible, even when I’m unable to put it into words. A few times it has opened the door for another child (young in age) to approach me, a wonder I never expected. Blogging is a gift I didn’t expect either–a place where I can sit here weeping and still get the words out and then let them go.
Thanks for your encouragement about being like a little child–even a babe! Blogging is also a gift because I’m finally being externally the little child I wasn’t allowed to be when I was ‘little’ — if that makes sense! I find it freeing and a great relief to speak and write in my own voice.
Thanks for the love and hugs! 🙂
Elouise
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Being a child again, is liberating and delicious. You find it essential in healing too, no doubt. 🙂 xx
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Yes, I do! And I also learn a bit about how to do this by visiting my blog friends, such as you, who know how to do just that! 🙂 The truth is, I’m a sucker for any children’s section of a garden or zoo–especially when it has ‘children only’ activities–which I take to mean me, of course! 🙂
Thanks, Fran!
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I need not say a word – Fran said it all. But I will. They need the old to listen to them. But you can’t ask the young if they need you. But in quiet presence they will come to you when they need you.
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I agree, John. I also know they’ll come if they already know you’re interested in them, not always caught up in the adult world and way of seeing things. I remember many days when I was aching for someone to smile at me instead of getting lost in adult-land with adult-talk, and ignoring me. Especially, I’m sad to say, at church. I know I’m not the only child who’s experienced that. Overall, most of the attention to children in my growing-up churches was to scold them–the alternative to ignoring them. They aren’t an interruption. They’re at least part of the agenda. I’m imagining you’re one of those persons to whom children can talk as needed. I’m also imagining it’s because you’ve already let them know you find them interesting and worth getting to know. And you have lots of funny stories and (unknown to them) lots of wisdom about how to relate to children.
Thanks for commenting, even though you think Fran said it all! 🙂
Elouise
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You speak so well of our need for an Enlightened Witness to heal from trauma. Being present, as John said, with empathy is truely some of the best medicine.
Your poem was so powerful and reminded me of patterns from my own childhood. As an adult I too am trying to connect the dots, and “choose not to look the other way”. Thank you.
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You’re so welcome, April. I like your Enlightened Witness language. Yes, healing requires these empathetic ‘angels’ in our lives. I’m glad you enjoyed the poem, and wish you nothing but healing as you begin to connect your own dots. It’s very freeing–and also terrifying at times. God will surely not abandon you.
Elouise
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Your poem resonated with me so deeply Elouise. The marvels of medicine to help along hearts that are broken, I would be so upset myself, but crying has never been my thing….stiff upper lip and all was how I was raised but sometimes I set them free, I am sending you my heartfelt thoughts for healing mind and body my dear friend. Always by your side, and sending purple roses…although could only find red. 🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹💜
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🙂 I love the red roses anyway! My stiff upper lip dissolved the minute I left home for college. It hasn’t returned, except in situations of high interpersonal or professional stakes, most often in work situations. Sometimes I miss it, but I never really liked it (the stiff upper lip) even though it served me well as a child. All this health stuff feels like a new (dare I say great?) adventure! Thanks for the cheers.
Elouise
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The opening line is hauntingly beautiful, thank you for sharing. Prayers for health and wholeness.
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You’re welcome, David. Thank you for your prayers and kind comment.
Elouise
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Elouise, so poignant and beautiful. Many of us are broken jars – the cracks are there in one way or another. And yet, we are vessels through whom love and light can shine. ❤
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Thank you, Susan, for this comment. Yes–often vessels made more beautiful because of the cracks. I find each stage of my life has invited and challenged me to become more transparent. This stage is challenging me in ways the others didn’t. I’m most grateful for your encouragement.
Elouise
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Yes your heart is broken. Perhaps if a healthy heart were to beat right next to yours, the two would beat as one; things with rythim, like skipping or dancing to a particular beat. Hopefully, the pacemaker will free you up from worry, so you can skip and dance! Anyway, my heart goes out to you 🙂
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Thanks for your upbeat, cheery comment! I love the image. What a great way to start this day! 🙂
Elouise
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