I wrote ‘Braille for the Wounded’ in 2016 during the time I was trying to come to terms with having to leave my home in Cambridge. I was oh so sad and I sure as hell did not want to move to Montreal and it took me quite a bit of time to adjust to this new reality.
Obviously I did end up moving despite my resistance and genuine sadness, and it was an incredible decision for my life ultimately, but on the way from Cambridge to Montreal, there was a very real process of grief and release to go through ... a mourning of the loss of my soon to be “old” life ... and that was heartbreaking for me.
It never helped when people would tell me how great Montreal would be and how much it would suit me because I wasn’t there yet inwardly. My whole heart was still in my beautiful little home in Cambridge; a place I never wanted to leave.
So until I could come to terms with the fact that I couldn’t stay there any longer, I wasn’t drawn to the pull of another city. I had never factored that into my future, and I needed time and tears and words and acceptance before I could get excited for the next chapter.
I was still in the chapter I had hoped to remain in. So like I said, it was a process to get to the point of welcoming the next one.
The period of transition for any of us can get messy and confusing and it’s important to respect that part of your journey as well.
Right now I feel like I’m in transition which is why this poem resonates with me in the same way as when I wrote it.
I’m doing a lot of healing right now which means facing things I haven’t faced yet and it’s been a lot of work and also very rewarding. I feel like I’m in the guts of my heart, mind and soul and I’m trying to peel away and put away old patterns that no longer serve me.
None of this is new, of course. It’s what I most love to do in life. It’s just deeper into the layers because I’m wanting to get to the root of my body’s need to carry pain.
I’ve had some pretty powerful breakthroughs over the last few weeks. I feel very deep in the process and it’s making me aware new things each day.
It’s an interesting process to dig into the parts of yourself that are wounded and need care. And it takes time and compassion and reflection and support and rest and a willingness to just listen to what your heart, body and mind are trying to tell you.
So I rest and I think and I feel and I heal. That’s life in Mandyland right now.
“Thank you for sharing you are doing life’s greatest work. Healing. So much love & respect for you precious friend. I love you.” Michelle Ruthven