Healed People Heal People
I once heard a powerful talk by a woman, at a conference in Portland. She told us about some of her darkest struggles in life — how a troubled childhood led to her being a sex worker and how that negatively impacted her life and relationships.
I’ll never forget when she said these words: “Hurt people hurt people.” I can’t remember if she was quoting someone. Probably. This has become a very popular phrase and idea. If you do a quick online search, you will find a book written by Sandra D. Wilson, by the same title, as well as many conflicting ideas about who coined the phrase.
Regardless of where the phrase came from, they are powerful words. This morning during my seven-minute meditation, they came to mind again. I believe this to be true. Hurt people do hurt people. But I wasn’t satisfied to let it end there. What’s the alternative? I wondered. I was ready to move on to the positive side of that statement.
Healed people heal people. I’m not talking about physical healing here. Doctors, our brilliant minds and bodies, and other things do that kind of healing. I’m not talking about medicinal solutions to chemical, mental un-wellbeing either. That’s what psychiatrists — and other eastern medicine healers (and etcetera)— are for, depending on what one subscribes to.
I’ll never be someone who claims to be completely healed. I won’t ever pretend to you that I’ve arrived at a place of perfect health or wellbeing. I would be lying if I ever told you that. Other people who tell you that are lying, too. Some of us are healthier than others, but we’re all dying. And most of us are doing our best to figure out how to be as healthy and whole as possible, while we’re alive.
What I can say with confidence is that I have healed in specific ways. For example, I carried my abortion shame around, for years. I did a lot of serious inner work during those years. I went to therapy, journaled, felt the pain as deeply as I needed to, practiced yoga, started dancing again, and talked with safe people.
Then I wrote an essay about it. I shared the essay publicly and had multiple women reach out to me, thanking me for reminding them they’re not alone. Because I had done the healing, I was able to turn my experience into an offering for others. And with that offering, others were healed a little bit, too.
Today, I don’t struggle with shame about my abortion anymore. I am healed from that, though the grief will stay with me. And people have continued to reach out to me since I shared the essay, thanking me for being a healing balm for them, too. This is the kind of healing I mean.
Someone gets sober after 20 years of being an alcoholic. They spend serious time truly healing the addiction, in all the ways they do. After some time, they meet someone who needs a sponsor, and the same kind of healing. Healed person heals person. (However much!)
Someone goes through a painful divorce. They spend time healing through therapy and gardening and by joining a book club. They do the work and heal from the pain, then they meet someone who’s in the divorce pit and offer to mentor them. Healed person heals person. (However much!)
“Although the world is full of suffering, it is full also of the overcoming of it.” ~Helen Keller
The are countless examples of how this happens. Life is beautiful. It is also a series of events that (hopefully, in the end) teach us how to heal from pain. Fortunately for us, we humans are resilient. We hurt, then (hopefully) we heal. Then, we have one of the most wonderful opportunities given us. We have the opportunity to take our healing and send it out into the world — in a beautiful prism dance — to help heal others. Hurt begets hurt, yes. But healing begets healing.
As I think back on the times of deepest pain in my life — the times when I was drowning in shame and self-loathing — there are moments that stand out like shining stars. As I confessed my deepest, darkest pains somberly, I was met with humor, grace, and light.
Moment Y. I was sitting in a wooden rocking chair beneath the camp trees, drinking coffee, and talking with a woman with silver pixie hair. I had asked her on a coffee date because there was something about her I was drawn to, and I felt like I needed to confess. We chatted for a bit, then I looked her dead in the eyes and told her I had just gotten divorced. Without skipping a beat or taking her gaze away from me she said, “Should I be sorry?” Healing.
Moment Z. I was sitting on a faded, red couch in an artsy living room, talking with two friends from my writing group. I had arrived early to discuss whether or not I would read something I had been working on about my deep, dark secret. One of my friends looked at me and asked if it was a story about abortion and I said yes. “Been there, done that,” she said. Healing.
These are good, kind, loving women. They are women who know what kind of pain divorce and abortion bring. They were not being cavalier in their responses. They were being intuitive. They had healed their wounds, and they could see what I needed in those moments. They could see I needed healing, and they met me with humor, grace, and light.
I will spend the rest of my life trying to be more like these two women, and others like them who have helped me heal in different ways. I’m going to take every opportunity I can to heal, myself and others, through humor, grace, and light. I want to be a healed healer, as much as I possibly can.
