Detecting My Family’s Pain Led Me to a Shame-Lifting, Miracle-Working Discovery

“If you look into the distance, there's a house upon the hill
Guiding like a lighthouse to a place where you'll be
Safe to feel at grace 'cause we've all made mistakes
If you've lost your way.
I will leave the light on.”
—Tom Walker, I Will Leave the Light On

My greatest teacher in 2017, and quite possibly my life, was grief. Right after my father-in-law passed away in March, I knew exactly the role I needed to fill for my family. I vowed to be a detective—to look beyond the surface to consider what was really going on … to notice the slightest changes in behavior that may indicate attention and care was needed … to resist the urge to take unbecoming behaviors at face value and acknowledge the painful root.

I assumed the role of detective for my family because I knew grief would wear disguises. Sure enough, grief wore irritability, impatience, anger, detachment, and fatigue. But because I was prepared for grief in disguise, I was able to respond to these emotions in compassionate ways. I continually surprised myself by remaining calm and compassionate in the face of unreasonableness simply by recognizing grief as the culprit.

“That’s grief talking,” I remember repeating over and over in my head one day when the outburst my loved one was having was so maddening that I wanted to scream. I remained calm and gently asked, “How can I help right now?” That’s when my loved one stopped ranting and began to cry. The outburst was merely a cover for the immense pain inside the heart. And as a result of my compassionate response, we could tend to it.

Miraculous, I thought to myself.

My calm, steady, compassionate response felt like a true miracle because for most of my adult my life, I’ve been known to become defensive, reactive, controlling, or withdrawn in the face of unbecoming behavior.

It’s quite miraculous what we’re able to do when we know the emotional outburst is not about us.  

It’s quite miraculous what we’re able to give when we know it’s about pain within.

My detective work didn’t stop with other people, though. It began to lovingly encompass me too.

We were white water rafting in the fall when I surprised myself by identifying my own emotional disguise. As my family navigated our first set of raging rapids, I feared my younger daughter was going to fall out. I began calling out orders, sharp and gruff.

“Don't be mad,” my husband said.

“I'm not angry, I’m scared,” I said holding back tears. “That's fear talking.”

Scott’s face softened at my admission. “We got through it, Rach, and that was supposed to be the hardest one.”

Later I thought about that fearful experience and realized my anxiety wears disguises too. All at once, the unbecoming behaviors I’d exhibited for decades when I was scared or anxious were seen in a whole new light. I often wondered how I could be so mean and controlling to people I loved so much. To realize that those behaviors were fear and anxiety talking lifted my shame and provided awareness I knew would been life changing going forward–and so far, it has been. Being able to interpret my unpleasantness for my family when I’m struggling and need extra grace has been so helpful and healing. Many conflicts have been avoided and many healthy decisions to choose love have been made using this heightened awareness.

I was most grateful to have this awareness last Sunday when my daughter and I arrived at the nursing home to visit her elderly friend “Annie.” We “adopted” Annie two years ago when Avery found out during a music therapy class that Annie hadn’t had a visitor in years.

As I've watched Annie deteriorate over the past six months, I’ve thought about the tragic day when we’d find her gone. Because we are not family, I knew we’d have no call, no warning, just an abrupt broken heart.

That is exactly what it felt like.

Standing there in the foyer of the nursing home, dripping wet from the rain, holding a little Christmas tree in our hands for Annie, dread began flooding my heart like a hole in a boat.

As the staff member stumbled on her words, I connected the unavoidable dots and said what she could not.

“Oh … Annie passed away,” I whispered.

Avery and I ushered ourselves into the tiny bathroom across from the dining hall and cried. Although many emotions could have done the talking at that time, we decided to let love do the talking – or in this case, the singing. We went to the third floor and visited Annie’s friend, Mama J., the bedridden woman down the hall from Annie’s room.

Like a true professional, Avery strummed her guitar and sang out beautifully and strong. When we set the Christmas tree we’d brought for Annie in Mama J’s window, she cried with joy. She said her tree had been stolen and that she’d been heartbroken about it. Suddenly, Mama J began to sing. Her soulful voice lifted the warm, stifling air as well as our heavy hearts. I gave thanks for that miraculous moment and vowed to remember to let love do the talking when grief wants to hole me up in the bathroom or curl me in a ball.

I’d like to tell you that once I assumed role of detective I was always able to identify the underlying emotions and respond with compassion—but there were times when I haven't. One of those times I failed so miserably that I caused more hurt and more anguish. When I realized the clues that I missed, I looked into the other person’s eyes and said how sorry I was. The wounded person’s response surprised me. These were the miraculous words: “I am sorry too. I was being awful because I was really, really sad. Next time I’m being awful, just tell me it’s going to be okay.”

I’d failed to be my loved one’s detective, but this person was able to be their own detective by identifying the real issue and what response would help most in the future.

Miraculous is the word that keeps coming to mind. Internationally acclaimed author and spiritual teacher Marianne Williamson provides a beautiful explanation as to why. She writes,

“The way of the miracle-worker is to see all human behavior as one two things: either love, or a call for love.”

As a detective of the human condition, we become miracle-workers.

Our loving response to someone’s deepest pain creates miracles—extraordinary events that bring welcome consequences.

I know this is true, and it is too good to keep to myself, especially now.

As we gather with family and friends for the holidays, it would serve us well to remember grief wears disguises … fear talks in unbecoming ways …  anxiety gets controlling and mean. And when these emotions are present, it is not a time to lecture, turn our back, or get revenge, but a call to love.

Now is the perfect time to be a detective of the human condition.

Because when we understand fear is talking
Anxiety is talking
Grief is talking
Hopelessness is talking,
We realize this is not about us.
And that allows us to respond to the hurting person in ways we never could before.

These are my final words to you in 2017, my most important discovery, summed up in a poem:

I Know Someone

I know someone going through a hard time.
He’s irritable, over reactive, and difficult to be around.
That’s grief talking, I remind myself,
And my love expands like an umbrella in a downpour.

I know someone going through a hard time.
She’s moody and over-the-top dramatic.
That’s teen angst talking, I remind myself,
And my love settles and steadies like a faithful friend.

I know someone going through a hard time.
She’s emotional, fidgety, and anxious.
That’s fear talking, I remind myself,
And my love whispers to her like a calming prayer.

I know someone going through a hard time.
He’s slow, repetitive, and forgetful.
That’s growing old talking, I remind myself,
And my love supports him like a great oak tree.

I know someone going through a hard time.
She’s awkward and sassy.
That’s hormones talking, I remind myself,
And my love endures like a worn pair of blue jeans.

I know someone going through a hard time.
He’s irritable, defensive, and angry.
That’s depression talking, I remind myself.
And my love breaks through the clouds and warms his face.

It’s not easy to stay close when I want to retreat,
To bite my tongue when I want to bite back
To empathize when I want to implode.
To detect when I want to disassociate
But when I do, love does the talking.

And when love speaks,
Peace is felt
Healing begins
Miracles happen in front of us and within us.

It’s a beautiful way to end a long, hard year.

It’s a beautiful way to begin a life of love.

© rachel macy stafford 2017 

 

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Dear friends of the Hands Free Revolution, recently a reader left this kind comment on one of my Facebook posts: “I wish I could just inject your life/wisdom into myself. Every piece I read of yours I think, THAT, THAT is the person I want to be. And then I’m still negative and grumpy and exasperated all day. I need your essence in something stronger than written words. Maybe pill form?”

This kind person was elated to know that her humorous question actually had real possibility. I wrote, “I believe I have something that will help! For over the past six months, I’ve been diligently working on a special opportunity for my readers. It is an online course where I will be coming into your home (through short videos) and guiding you step-by-step through the process I used to get from where I was (critical, hopeless, unfulfilled, distracted) to being a present, authentic, and joyful participant of my life. Sometimes the reading of the words are not enough and hand-in-hand guidance is needed.”

On January 9, registration will open for SOUL SHIFT, an 8-week journey of uncovering and responding to one’s deepest truths in a way that inspires lasting positive change and profound transformation. To be notified in advance and take advantage of the early-bird pricing, simply enter your email address here.

Thank you for the beautiful gift of your support for my books and my heart in 2017. What you did make ONLY LOVE TODAY more than a book, but a movement, makes my heart so full. I love each one of you dearly. Looking forward to more miracle-working discoveries in 2018!