From the Inside Out

“A lot of people say they want to get out of pain, and I'm sure that's true, but they aren't willing to make healing a high priority. They aren't willing to look inside to see the source of their pain in order to deal with it.” ~ Lindsay Wagner


About a week ago, my oldest son got hurt playing basketball. What initially appeared as a red, slightly swollen bump, changed color over time, and became a silver-dollar-sized brown and yellow bruise covering the inside of his wrist.

The other night, he reached out to pick up something while I was cooking dinner, and I asked if his arm still hurt. He shook his head and looked at the bruise; “look mom,” he said, “the bruise looks like a doughnut now.” And it really did. What used to be a solid blue mark finally faded to a rusty brown circle encrusting a small area of healed skin.

To my surprise, he said: “Isn’t it strange how so many things that happen on the outside seem to relate to experiences inside of ourselves?”

When I asked what he meant, he replied: “People think that you heal from the outside and you have to treat your body, but even this bruise shows how things truly heal from the inside out.”

I was stunned at his ability to embrace such a philosophical view of things at such a young age, and became quite curious about his theory. The way he explained it was simple, yet it was probably more powerful than most complicated versions I’ve heard before. Adults can make a mess of things when they try to inflate their ideas with big words to impress, desperate to appear erudite and wise; kids have no time for garnishes, and go straight to the heart of things.

With the perception of a fifteen-year-old naturally fascinated by electronics, he sees the outer body as a machine fed by a central “life engine”. The energy received from the central source is then distributed through an intricate wiring to reach all areas of the body and mind, all filaments connected to one another. If one bulb burns out, a whole section shuts off, and doesn’t receive energy.

The central supply is continually fed by our daily experiences and it runs freely at the center; if something happens to it, or if it slows its flow to a trickle, all the filaments depending on its power gradually turn off.

I thought about this theory long after my son went on his way. When our flow of life energy is slowed down or interrupted, a compromised sense of wellness is the natural consequence. The most important question at this point would be whether wellbeing can be restored if the flow is once again regulated. Would the secondary channels be irreversibly damaged after not being fed for a long period of time, or could they fill up with a new supply of life energy and resume their work?

Personally, I believe that some of them – those that have completely dried out over time – are probably irreparable, but I also think that a new network can be created once the flow reaches new, consistent strength.

Our work doesn’t revolve around producing the energy itself, as it is self-renewing; all we need to focus on is the removal of blocks that prevent it from moving freely.
Guilt is often the mother of all blocks, followed closely by anxiety and fear. We can easily picture our blocks like sandbags we place around the source of energy to block its flow; if we remove the sandbags, nothing can stop the energy from radiating out from the core.

If we can learn to heal from within, just as Stephen’s bruise is doing, we can hope that when the process is complete, full power will once again be restored.

On a Date with Myself

“Self-worth comes from one thing – thinking that you are worthy.” ~ Wayne Dyer


Today all my children are back in school. While I was talking to my editor last night, our discussion led to a list of different things I need to work on and deliver to her soon. “The next few days I will have the chance to work on some of these tasks,” I told her, “but not tomorrow, since I am taking the day for myself.”

After the words escaped my lips, I wondered how they sounded to others. I am quite excited to be working on the list she wants me to work on, and it really does not feel like work at all, but after two weeks of refereeing three kids home on winter break, I think I deserve a few hours for myself.

I remember there was a time in my life when I felt guilty about taking personal time. My motto was to run and run, and then to run some more to make sure everything and everyone were taken care of. Being a nurturer by nature, I thought that was the only way to manage things around me, until one day I started feeling sick. When I finally made myself go to the doctor, I was diagnosed with Lyme disease – I hadn’t felt well for a couple of weeks and I was overly-fatigued, but having small children an a million other things I routinely took care of, I never gave even a tiny thought about slowing down. The doctor was horrified by my lack of care toward my own health, and sent me home with a two-week treatment of antibiotics and a lecture.

I recovered from the illness fairly quickly, but I also made a pledge – never again would I allow myself to get so run-down before paying attention. My outlook on a lot of things changed in those few weeks; I needed to be there for the kids, and the house, and my husband, and our business, but who would take care of it all if something happened to me and I had to be hospitalized? Was I so stuck-up to think they would all be on a fast ride to hell if I wasn’t there to check on everything? Of course not; someone else would be taking care of things – maybe in a different way, but they would take care of everything nonetheless. Another thought crossed my mind…could it be the opposite? Could it be that I valued others more than I valued myself?

It didn’t take me long to realize that in order to take care of others I had to first take care of myself. That included not getting emotionally involved in the personal dramas of others – as my friend Dena so beautifully put it, I became compassionately detached. I still cared for everybody, but I also cared for my own well-being. After all, only a skilled swimmer in good shape could save a drowning man; if one jumped in the water without being able to swim, or allowed the other person to drag them down in their panic, there would be not just one, but two people drowning. That day long ago, I learned that if I really want to be there for others I must first be there for myself.

So, today myself and I are having a date. I’m planning to go browse new titles at a bookstore in the sweet company of a tall cup of Starbucks’ dark roast until it’s time to pick my daughter up from school. In just a couple of hours, I’ll be happy to be Mom again, but for just a little while it will be fun to just be me.