Note: I write about different facets of our lives, from simple to complex, from silly to serious.  The last post was lighter, about dancing & denser men 😉. This essay flips to the serious side, looking at growing and learning from that difficult teacher known as Pain, and a story about my dad.

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I remember several years ago leaning my head against my office wall after lunch enduring an encompassing sense of pain that filled my head, the hurt weighing my body down; would it ever end? The issues I’d been dealing with in counseling were pressing against me. I pushed them aside to get back to work but the thoughts and the pain continued to swirl within me. Alan Fogel Ph.D., wrote in Psychology today: “When people feel emotional pain, the same areas of the brain get activated as when people feel physical pain.” That matched my bodily experience, as the emotions literally pressed my head deeper against the wall.

Everyone has experienced pain, whether in body or mind. I’m sure no one likes it. It’s part of our lives, be it a pinprick or significant trauma. The pain might be acute or chronic, intermittent or constant. Some of us have faced tough, difficult times: a divorce, loss of a job, a house fire, Alzheimer’s disease. Children are not immune either, whether from a pet dying or being bullied at school. If the pain is significant enough, it can alter your life’s trajectory.

My question is twofold. First, when you’ve experienced something deeply painful, have you been able to face what happened and move through it? With the help of friends, a counselor, prayer, books or other ways? Or was the pain too much to face and you felt stuck, unable to move forward?

Alan Fogel, speaking on emotional pain, said: “… why not also let ourselves go to the places of emotional pain? Yes, it hurts for a while, but then—miraculously—there can be relief and the emergence of a new perspective on ourselves and others”. Though the “hurts for a while” may seriously understate the degree of pain we might feel, it’s been my experience that those words capture the truth. It’s worth the effort to make the time and find the resources to help you process what happened and begin to heal. I would add another clarifier: His words “… why not also let ourselves” requires a degree of courage. We need to believe that healing is possible so we can find the courage to go to those painful places.

Second, if you have done the healing work and found a way to land on your feet, what of the scars that remain in your body or mind? Are they only a reminder of what happened, no longer holding any power? Or are they a shadowy anchor that continues to keep you captive? A quote by Brene Brown helped me: “Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.”  When I finally understood the scope of my issues, I remember at one point asking myself: was I brave enough to face whatever was before me, despite my fear of the unknown? It took a moment until I answered, yes.

Courage and bravery. I had a counselor once suggest that I talk with my dad about several memories from growing up that had impacted me and driven a wedge between us. We didn’t have a particularly close relationship for most of my life, though over the last decade of his life we grew closer. I’d call him every few weeks, or visit him every few months (he lived a couple hours away). I finally worked up the nerve and shared my memories and feelings with my dad. To my utter surprise he listened, really listened. We didn’t have a deep conversation, but I knew somehow, he’d heard me. He asked a few questions and then, in his own way, he apologized. To hear those words from my father – what connection it brought between us! That experience taught me to be more courageous, to not yield to my introverted nature, to speak up when hurts and reactions were impacting my relationships.

It may not be visible to those around me, but I know, I know that my choices to be courageous and “let myself go to those places of emotional pain,” to be “brave enough to explore the darkness” within me to find healing, helped enable me to live a healthier life, thank God.

I’ll end with a slight digression of how my dad’s passing opened a deeper realization about myself related to my questions above about pain.  

Dad flew a F6F Hellcat as a night-fighter off the carrier Bon Homme towards the end of WWII. My brother David and my daughter Elizabeth accompanied him on a one-day Honor Flight out of Syracuse, NY to Washington, DC to celebrate his sacrifice for our country. I have a close-up photo of him from that trip framed on my desk. When I glance at it, I see him looking off to the side, eyes alive, his aged face expressive. I sense his determination, his presence, a satisfaction with his service in the Navy. Though he was imperfect as we all are, his efforts were directed towards creating things and connecting with others, and I trust that God will honor that when his life is weighed.

Not long after that trip, Dad died from a sudden heart attack. When my brother and sister found him, he was dressed and ready to go out for the day to meet some friends. Though he and mom had a strained relationship the last twenty years of their lives, especially as my mom succumbed to dementia and paranoia, he did not pull away but continued to try and connect with her. After she died, I saw him freed up and begin to blossom. It was sad that he died less than a year later, though God knows the right time. In the years since his passing, I have come to see how I had taken on some of his drive, his focus, and his determination (just ask my wife or kids 😉). His passing clarified those traits for me and helped me see when to use them in my life.

The last time I saw him at 92 years old, he was still making an effort to stand straight (he had significant kyphoscoliosis, having a lost a foot in height). His lips were pressed firmly together, a thoughtful smile and intentional expression as he looked at me. I think of that as I look at the framed picture of him on my desk. I sense the drive, focus and determination, softened by age, that he helped form in me. I sit a little straighter, my jaw set a bit firmer, my heart feeling grateful. A few tears still leak down at times seeing that picture. I pray that I’ll see him in Heaven.