Demons Bearing Gifts

In his book, Crisis Points: Working Through Personal Problems, author Julian Sleigh introduced me to the idea of demons who show up in our lives making us “shrink in fear and revulsion.” Yet they bear gifts hidden under their wings. “If we challenge them and make them yield up their gifts,” he says, “they will be satisfied and will fly away, leaving us to benefit from what they brought.”

If this is true, I met many demons last year and it took me awhile to make them show me the gifts. You may be wondering where I’ve been since last February. And, perhaps my biggest fear is that you are not. Maybe my posts and newsletters and calls were forgotten in the bustle of your own demons, triumphs and joys. And that’s as it should be, really. My demons belong to me – and yours to you. And for much of 2012, I couldn’t coach you or help you to share your fears because my own demons were circling like vultures, it seemed.

Last year began rather unexpectedly and dramatically for me and my family. My youngest daughter was hit by a young driver, resulting in a severe break at the ankle and the total loss of her car and her job. Months of surgeries and pain followed, and I worried about every aspect of her recovery. Simultaneously, another demon brought me the realization that my mother’s dementia and failing health would require an almost immediate move to assisted living. I worried that the house wouldn’t sell and that we wouldn’t be able to afford the right place. Later that summer, my oldest daughter broke her wrist – yet another surgery ensued! Federal funding cuts affected nonprofits that I serve daily. I slipped into a routine of reacting, fretting, doubting myself and fearing – oh the fearing!. By July, being on hyper alert to all of these issues began to take a toll on my physical and emotional health. It took me a few months, but by the end of the year, I came up and out of the darkness and demanded that all these demons yield their gifts to me. And there they were…

I was able to work when I could, as I could, without losing my income or the career that is so meaningful to me. My children recovered and found their own gifts in the pain and suffering. My mother adjusted to the move and I found that I enjoyed having her so close and can accept what her brain can offer at this stage of her life. I realized that if I ignore the emotional work that needs to be done and hope that it all goes away, it won’t. I read a lot of books and watched a lot of movies, but when they each ended, the problems were still there. If I try to continually live with reacting rather than responding, I eventually break down and need to nurture myself and heal. I’m not an adrenaline junkie anymore. Maybe it’s my age or maybe it’s just that I’m tired of it.

But when I do demand the gifts, I am surprised by joy and I see grace. I see those friends who loved me through the times I retreated to my room, forgetting to call or send a birthday card. I am loved by those family members who believe that what I could do in those moments was enough. My colleagues, clients, and teammates acknowledge my journey and wait for me to come back to myself. I forgive myself for not ‘achieving my goals’ or ‘committing to success.’ I just let it all go and reach for what is beautiful and comforting.

So this year, so far, the demons have been mostly at bay. For now. I am back to myself and back to work that I love in a way that pleases and delights me. I remember why I love coaching so much and have reconnected with old clients and welcomed new ones. There are still issues – some loom large on the horizon. But there is more good in my life than I can number.

This year will be filled with peace. How do I know? Because even when the demons swoop in, I know that they are carrying something that I desperately need. And only I have the ability to ask them to surrender it.

Surrender. Sounds like a beautiful state of being, doesn’t it?

Forever Changed

Five years ago today, I lost almost everything I owned in a perfect storm named Katrina.  While we drove farther away from the Mississippi Gulf Coast, flood waters moved into our home and carried our refrigerator into the living room.  Hundreds of books became a pile of unreadable mush. We stood in stunned silence in a Florida motel room packed with our girls, four dogs, a hairless rat, two gerbils and boxes of what we thought was important enough to take with us, watching the destruction on the television.  And when we returned, we slipped into an instant shock as we saw cars smashed up against buildings, slab after slab lined along the beaches and the most intimate belongings strewn along tree branches or melded into fences.  At one point, the pile of debris in the front of our yard was taller than the roof of our house. We wondered if we would ever feel better.  Coming together on streets that looked like a battlefield, we asked our friends and acquaintances if they knew who survived and who didn’t.  Helicopters overhead reinforced the feeling that we were in a third-world country.  I questioned whether we should live in a place where something like this is possible. Our children grieved over the loss of memorabilia that spanned their short lifetimes. We cried over the things we didn’t consider important enough to stuff into the cars. We longed for walls, a television, a home cooked meal in a ‘normal kitchen,’ a FEMA trailer and a bed to sleep in.  And we were terrified that we wouldn’t have the means to rebuild and carry on.

We couldn’t think ahead much past the next week or maybe, if we stretched it, the next month. Living in the present wasn’t something we struggled to perfect – it became default mode as we didn’t want to relive the trauma of the recent past and we couldn’t quite grasp the concept of a normal future.

Let me tell you about the volunteers.  I still can’t fathom how people put their lives, careers and school years on hold to come and muck out house after house.  People came to us from all across the nation and cried with us as we took stock of what we lost.  We felt their love and they felt our losses as they were confronted day after day with the aftermath of the trauma.  You would think they would want to run away and stay in their own comfortable homes with their healthy, happy families.  But they stayed, or returned again and again.  Americorps volunteers, students from Queens University and many other colleges, church members from every denomination – they all rushed in to help us when we couldn’t help ourselves.

Now, I sit in my living room, typing on a laptop and watching the Emmys in High Definition.  The air conditioner hums softly in the background and I have electricity in every room of my house at the same time without having to prioritize appliances into a small number of working outlets.  I just returned home from a celebration in the little town of Bay St. Louis where countless friends and community leaders came together to remember those who lost their lives and to take stock of how far we’ve come.  Businesses still struggle to stay open another week.  The oil spill has us all feeling more than a little beleaguered.  And we might always hold our breath through most of July through September, hoping this doesn’t happen again.

Let me tell you about what I gained from Katrina.  I know how to hang and finish drywall now which I suppose sets me apart from many of my peers.  My neighbors and I now know each other by name and we still do little things for each other to make life easier.  Almost all of my possessions are new and my house is more open and comfortable, yet I’m very detached from all things material and mundane.  I found coaching which I believe is my divine, soul purpose.  Gratitude has become a daily practice and my spiritual life is deeper and richer than ever before.  Words like content, delighted and peaceful are used to describe how I feel on a daily basis.  And I have this inner silent knowing of the soul that is unshakeable.

I hope my family and I never have to go through this again. But I know we can survive the unimaginable. As strange as this sounds, I’m grateful for Hurricane Katrina. From much destruction came an incredible rebirth. Five years later, I can tell you – I am forever changed.