The truth does not always matter.
One of the first lessons I learned as a child was that no one ever heard my cries which left me feeling unheard and unseen. Sigh. I can still remember how my tears would fall uncontrollably with only me to soothe and quiet my spirit. This reality left me feeling shattered with a sense of aloneness that has stayed with me to this day.
Sadly, even though I feel supported and loved now, the past remains a quiet voice within my head. It reminds me that I am alone; I will always be alone. The open wounds of my earliest memories have never left. While there is no question that I was loved and adored by my brother and father, neither of them kept me safe from my mother’s wrath. Mental illness and addiction had a stronghold on my mother and made her a volatile monster. I don’t think that I ever had a moment in which I felt safe in her presence.
My adult years have been profoundly different. Even though the sense of aloneness seems to always be part of my inner being, it shouldn’t be. The truth is that today, I feel love surrounding me – always. And thanks to social media, I always feel seen and heard; in fact, I can’t hide. 😊
Case in point, I was totally blown away with the support I was being offered when I had to have a hysterectomy about ten years ago. At the time I lived in the Washington, DC area where I had a close-knit group of friends. But my close friends from my Jewish educator circles wanted to come in from New York, South Carolina, California, and Washington State. I could not have asked for anything more precious then to be loved by these friends. In the end, my friend Idie from New York stayed with me and tried to keep me from pushing myself post-surgery. I am kind of surprised that our friendship sustained that experience; I’ve never been known for my patient ways. Another distinct memory I have from that surgery was waking up alone in the hospital room with intense nausea. I felt horrible. But I wasn’t alone for long. A friend of mine showed up to take care of me. Pia held my hand, put cold compresses on my head, and loved me until the nurses could get my nausea under control. That’s love.
Again, when I lost my job in Tucson, Arizona in 2014, my friends supported me financially, making it possible for me to survive. One friend allowed my family to live in her second home without cost to us. Other friends helped me fundraise what I needed to make it through. Another two friends found me contract positions which allowed me to support my family. People showed up to help us unpack our car and to simply be with us. When we had to put down our beloved dog Shachar, our friends David and Jennifer drove two hours to make sure we were not alone in our sadness. While losing my job in Tucson was scary, it was made so much easier because of the love that was showered on the Gal-Or/Grossman household. I will never forget how blessed I felt.
Over the last several decades, I have story after story of how my beloved friends showed up for me. And yet, those earliest memories remain. It doesn’t matter that I know the beliefs are total bullshit. Intellectual knowledge can’t replace the imprinted memories of the inner child that was so battered and bruised. My friend Mary put it beautifully when she said, “It sounds like your support network helped diminish the volume of those painful earlier memories.” I think she is 100% correct.
Now my work is to trust the “real truth”. I am surrounded by love; I am not alone.
I got this!
Onward with love, light, & blessings,
Chava
PS: Thanks for reading what will likely be part of my memoir which at this point is being called, Living Out Loud: A Thriver’s Journey. If you like what you are reading, please take a moment and like it on WordPress or any social media site, AND if you have feedback, I’d love to hear it.