Giving Voice To Silence

Most days, I’m kicking cancer’s butt. 

My scans remain stable, and I buoy myself into daily triumph over chronic nausea, pain, and low energy. I’ve developed a strong will to defy the odds, and have come to realize that this concept is not some grand idea that lives in a future time… it is a day-to-day gut check (literally!) with how I manage energy, relationships, nutrition, and boundaries. It's a full time job that I used to resent, but I am now continually learning to embrace.

Yet sometimes, cancer’s remnants win a few rounds and so far it’s been a tough year. I have been seriously ill for the last 5 months. I lost more than 20 pounds. I lost my strength. I lost connection with others. I lost the beautiful clinic I created, and the devoted clientele I had the privilege of nurturing and had come to love. I lost my momentum with the creative project of my heart and with that, my sense of direction.

Thankfully, I have not lost my trust that each thing taken from me is part of clearing the ground for what is coming to me.

However, in the face of this overwhelming experience, I went really, really quiet. A need for privacy and solitude is not new to me, and that tendency grew even stronger after I was diagnosed two years ago. I have weathered several losses since then, as I tried to reconcile my pre-cancer identity with my new physical and emotional landscape. But this latest experience has truly been a new depth of utter ground level silence.

I recently caught myself thinking that I would only have something valuable to offer once I’d gotten myself together again. How short-sighted this is! Not only is there no such thing as having it all together, but also, if we are to talk about presence and artistry as therapists, we must be able to connect to what is happening in times of quiet retreat after disorganization and loss…and compassionately honor some of the more silent ways of navigating it. It’s an unfortunate truth that quietude and introspection are not nearly as popular as outward positivity, sharing of the journey, and reassuring proclamations that all is well. We need to stay aware of any bias towards this inequity as we are entrusted with others’ experiences of pain.

But how do we talk about and relate to the “nothingness” of another’s silent retreat? How do we know what to offer in times when we do not know what is brewing inside someone’s heart and mind? How do we support healthy silence without interrupting it, without seeking our own comfort and reassurances, and without imposing our own values around what healthy processing looks like? How do we know when it has veered off into withdrawal or shut down?

One possible answer is, leaning on awareness borne of familiarity.

To that end, I have come here to give my current silence a voice. Perhaps a peek inside one person’s internal experience will open a dialogue of curiosity and care around how we recognize and support this quiet, yet active healing process.

So, here is some vulnerable truth to share about the state of my spirit:

Simply stated, I am in a stillpoint. 

I know my work in this place is to stay wide open as my suspended pieces of life reorganize around me. Soul purpose, relationships, and motivation… all hovering. Gathering. Spinning. Morphing.

I’m resisting the magnetic pull of falling back into who I was and what I was doing before, even though it would feel incredibly good to have a bit of traction and ease. I trust that I will someday know which parts of me will be brought along for the next chapter, and which of them I must thank and then release.

It’s deeply mindful work to stay in a state of open review, honest emotion, and acknowledgement of what is, without judgment…all while staying perpetually open to receive, patiently awaiting the alchemy. I must allow, rather than try to create, the subtle moments of my pieces coming together in a new way. I remind myself to trust that if I do not interrupt the process with an outcome and a timeline, someday those transformed pieces will re-inhabit my conscious mind and body, and give life to a next step.

It takes awareness and discipline to avoid getting swept into linear time and stories and hallmarks of “progress.” Conversation requires processes such as interpretation, analysis, and response. Sometimes it even demands a justification, or elicits protection. All of these pull me from my focus on this work, which is both deeply lonely and incredibly liberating. Work which looks (and often feels) like stuckness and perhaps even selfishness on the surface, but is actually a wide-lens engagement of collective truths, definitions of healing, and the safety and belonging of us all.

My soul has called for my full attention. Through memories, feelings, observations, insights, and synchronicities, it's showing me when I tend to abandon myself. It points out falsities I thought were foundational truths. It directs me to trust my real strength, which is not easily seen or shared in the physical, visible world, even by those closest to me. It asks me to find the way to cherish and protect my sensitivity and empathic nature, yet bring forth and allow the authenticity, open heart, deep connection, and radiant joy that I am capable of sharing. 

I may seem far away, but I am not running away. I am not pretending, not covering up, not avoiding, not ghosting. I am being honest and doing the work that only I can do.  As I hold this intention, it requires intense concentration to resist labels, expectations, and desires; to feel, and NOT THINK. Which, naturally, leads to a lot less talk.

I’m not going to sugar coat this….its all pretty hard. And lonely. There are many times I want to reach towards that person, that experience of connection, that soothing reassurance which were part of my former, less silent life. My fortitude comes from knowing that on the other side of this place, those who truly love me will still be there. I also know, I am being called to learn how to recognize and value my worth outside of what I mean to others. And so, I trust the process, and myself.

I hope this description helps to bring some new curiosity and gentleness to what is so often called dysfunction, disappearance, disconnection, or cowardice.

Enormous strength is required to glean the wisdom from taking a deep solo dive into honest self review. In turn, authentic unconditional regard is required to stay present with someone steeped in the realness of what they feel. Can we learn to understand and support this process instead of offering spiritual platitudes, or passing judgment, for our own sense of order and ease? Can we lean in, rather than abandon each other, when truth is uncomfortable? Can we be fully present when there are no words to offer, or outcomes to discern?

I believe we can.

And I believe that those who answer a wholehearted yes to those questions, stemming not from their cognitive ideals, but from their own experience of exploring murky personal depths, have engaged the very foundation of what it means to be a true therapeutic artist.

Here’s to exploring our depth, so that we can offer deeper and truer love to ourselves and others.