castles and moats

There is a project I have due tomorrow, and I have been passively avoiding it. By that I mean I am allowing myself to get caught up in other 'business' like sewing, cleaning, Pinterest, counting pennies....just about anything that will seem productive when I look back at the day. [Yes, Pinterest. I made a board of projects I want to get done by fall. It had to be done sometime!] Today I grabbed hold of a piece of advice from my therapist and gave myself the command: "Do nothing but this project for the next hour and a half." It almost worked. I mean, I know where the project is going now (I think), but in the process, I sent a rather lengthy email (related, but likely not necessary) and also took a phone call. In so doing, I was trying to practice avoidance, but they managed to clarify and give direction and shape to the project, so I can maybe mark the 'done' box. Make that the 'started' box.

What came out of the morning was an admission. Not a new one, but a repeat that has never gotten me anywhere before. Here's the thing: the project has to do with opening my heart, baring my soul, and revealing old scars and wounds that may never heal fully, and letting Christ walk with me in the pain, toward healing. Trouble is, when I feel pain, I turn away from everyone, myself included, and isolate. Not to lick my wounds, but to ignore them. My heart, I'm afraid, is a mass of grisly, ugly scars that have tried to heal over despite getting infected from lack of attention. In my brokenness, I believe that pain is meant to be hidden away, ignored, unnamed. Eventually it will go away. And then we can forget about it. My therapist and I are working on that -- albeit slowly because I can't bring myself to look as deep as I need to, even in the safety of his office. On my walk of faith, my heartpain has been touched upon, but I kid myself into thinking that God will make his own way there without my assistance. I mean, he's God, right? Can't he do anything he wants?

Today I admitted that my turning inward is an addiction to me. I try (unsuccessfully) to convince myself that it doesn't affect anyone but me, since I'm alone. I know it's not in my best interest to keep it all to myself, yet I not only avoid sharing, I actively decide not to. To borrow a phrase from therapy, it's comfortable because it's familiar, not because it fits. And when I think something might begin to hurt, I've begun looking for the solitude, except that instead of being a refreshing break from contact with whatever or whomever is causing my distress, it's become extreme, to the point of desolation.

I read this today:

We need to withdraw from time to time
from all unnecessary cares and business.

Sound advice, yes? It's St. Teresa of Avila, and when similar advice was issued a few months ago, I got frustrated (angry?) because I knew this withdrawing I do is not healthy, that it hurts my soul more than it helps. Today, as I read those words, I realized they have the opposite meaning. The key word is 'unnecessary.' For my situation, withdrawing from unnecessary cares points toward contact with others. I need to withdraw from the unnecessary -- dwelling on the hurts and pains. I need to back away from my walled castle and cross the moat to meet those who can offer themselves to me. I need to begin the work of allowing myself to be heard, showing my pain, and ultimately asking for help in nursing my wounds. When others share their pain with me, I can feel it, and I welcome their sharing. Lightening their load is something I don't need to think twice about. But I claim my load to be mine and mine alone. I cannot carry it by myself. I don't know how to share it, how to give it over. Not even to God. I ask him to take it, but I pick and choose which bits he can carry. And that's not fair to either one of us.

Now to figure out how to lower this drawbridge...