THE SONG RETURNS

I stood at the stove, pushing the breakfast potatoes back and forth, turning one and then another, seeking that perfect golden crunchiness on every side.  The rising sun shone brightly through the back window and onto the pan, hinting at another reliably warm, humid day in the tropics.

Removing the potatoes from the heat, making way for the eggs that would follow, I suddenly noticed that the tune in my head had made its way to my voice. “Are youuuuu a life force . . .”, words from my favorite Caamp song rang into the space.  Ahhh, softness, lyrics, lightness.  I smiled.  Not a big toothy grin, but one that starts slowly in the heart and pushes the sides of the mouth up slightly into a deep, knowing smile.  The sound that came out of my throat was more than a hum, yet less than a full connection to the melody, but there I was — singing again. My eyes welled with tears at the realization.

The days of lighthearted song flowing through me so easily, naturally, had become a distant memory given the events of previous months.  As my throat constricted from the swell of emotion, I turned off the flame of the stove and paused to allow the tears of gratitude to flow.  Gratitude for the little bit of light that returned that day - first through the window and then through my voice, but more importantly my heart and mind.

It’s never really clear when we step out in faith whether we’ll be met with grace or angst.  Much depends on the lessons ready to be learned by all players involved.  Thus, faith.

In this particular case, when the darkness came in, it came with a roar and stayed.  Little did I know that stepping in and stepping up to help someone in need was my first step onto a downward spiral of narrowing choices and reactions to circumstances that became increasingly more complex.  Story, manipulation, denial, questioning.  One step forward, three steps back.

I had no idea I had put myself in danger.  Real danger.  Not just mental and emotional, but physical and financial danger.  As the compounding circumstances continued to devolve, anger and fear became my primary emotions.  Irrational, sick-to-your-stomach anxiety about the possibilities, and always the most negative of outcomes.  Swept up in scenarios and systems whose solutions were always just out of reach.

I had stepped into this situation with the same fervor and intention that I approach everything.  Making all the resources I had available to assist - my time, my energy, my money, my counsel, my connections.  Opening wholeheartedly to the experience of helping someone else to rise. But, rather than rise, everything I gave was pulled down into the muck, along with all of us.

As a healer and coach, it is easy to maintain objectivity and assist from outside the ring of fire.  As a personal interest, it is all too easy to get IN it.  Wanting the best for someone who is not ready to take personal responsibility for their choices and actions  - makes it easy to go overboard as an empath.  And little by little I lost my sense of self, my objectivity, and lost sight of my own path and purpose.

The songs, the lightness, the light all seemed to disappear during those dark months.  My relationships, my loyalty, my beliefs, my boundaries, my worthiness were simultaneously tested.

Oddly, before it was silenced, I had been in the process of learning to use my voice in different ways until it came to a screeching halt.  Leaning into what I thought was an unreachable dimension of myself by singing along with my partner’s guitar and guidance.  It had been scary at first, acknowledging all the beliefs and conditioning I had about my voice, being heard, connecting.

The nakedness of my voice felt more exposed than the nakedness of my body, but I wanted to embrace it.  Somehow I knew this part of life had been calling me for a long time.  Clients and students had often commented about the soothing and calming effect of my voice as I’d guide them through movement, meditation or visualization.

Testing my voice in a new way was the kind of challenge I was up for.  I had grown accustomed to fearing forward.  I had trained myself to do so.  I was willing to get comfortable with discomfort on the way to something greater.  On the way to becoming more, better, different, expanded.  I learned to embrace new things that expanded the person I am. I thought diving into the “helping” role would expand me too.

Of course this experience expanded me too.  On some level, I chose the lessons of it as well.  The simplicity of taking responsibility for my complicity in it set me free.  Although we are all capable of healing, not everyone will choose to do so.  Releasing myself from responsibility for someone else’s choice to heal expanded that freedom.  All leading to the softness of a moment that wouldn’t have meant as much without the contrast of enduring the pain.  A moment of sweetness that warmed my heart instead of breaking it.

And now, in this quiet moment of realization, the warm sun beaming onto my face in the kitchen, soft tears of gratitude now just salty stains on my cheeks, I leaned into the simplicity of mundane tasks like making breakfast and the comfort they brought; peace even.  The reactionary defenses had fallen away to their rightful place, the endless anxiety had subsided, the anger and resentment were at least at bay, if not yet fully processed.  My mind allowed for a bit of frivolity and my heart and voice were open again, allowing song to return.

The realization of the return is so sweet, bringing in gratitude, appreciation, and awe for the resilience, beauty, and acceptance, most importantly self-acceptance, available to us all. The stiller the silence, the sweeter the sound when the song returns.

Photo credit:  Photo by Callum Hill on Unsplash