Jewels from the Dark

Before my amputation in 2023, I went away by myself for two weeks to try to catch my breath and take a self-inventory of my life. I found that I was not in a place of acceptance. Not deeply. Sure I had accepted that I was hurt, that my hand did not work, that the plan was to take it off. But I never actually accepted the fact that it happened in the first place. Nor the permanent impact it had on every level of my life.

While away, I was going through Jacqueline Winspear’s Maisie Dobbs series (total plug for the book series – not associated with the author in any way). It is a fantastic series following a female detective/psychologist in the period of the First World War and Second World War. In Birds of a Feather, Maisie has a conversation towards the end of chapter 16 with another character, Dr. Dean, about the idea of injuries and acceptance. It was so profound, that I ended up transcribing the entire conversation as I listen to audiobooks more often than reading print books at this point, so I don’t have page numbers for you. The bold emphasis is mine:

M – Tell me, Dr. Dean, if you were to name one thing between those who get well quickly and those who don’t what would it be?

Dr. D – Well, if I were to name one thing, it would be acceptance.

M – Acceptance? But doesn’t that stop the injured or wounded from trying to get better?

Dr. D – Ahh, now you are playing devils advocate aren’t you? In my opinion, acceptance has to come first. Some people don’t accept what has happened. They think, oh if only I hadn’t walked up that street when I did or – in a case like your father’s – if only I’d known the ground was that wet and that Fred or whatever his name was had left his tools in the way. They are stuck at the point of the event that caused the injury.

M – Yes, I think I know what you mean.

Dr. D – So in the case of the soldiers that find it difficult to move on, and of course, some of them have had terrible injuries that all the therapeutic assistance in the world can’t help. But those who find it difficult to accept are stuck in time. They keep thinking back to when it happened. And it’s not so much, ‘Oh I wish I had never enlisted!’ In fact, most say, ‘At least I went.’ But instead, it’s a case of, ‘If only I had ducked or jumped when I could have or run a bit faster or gone back for my friend.’ And of course it all gets mixed up with the guilt of actually surviving when their pals didn’t.

M – So what’s the answer?

Dr. D – I wish I had one, but I would say it’s threefold. One is accepting what has happened. Three is having a picture, an idea of what they will do when they are better or improved. Then, in the middle, number two is a path to follow. For example, from what I’ve heard about your father, he’ll make a good recovery. He’s accepted that the accident happened, has a picture of what the future holds for him when he’s better – ensuring that the colt is in tiptop condition, ready for training at Newmarket. And in the middle he’s already aware of the steps that he’ll take…

Winspear, J. (2004). Birds of a Feather. Soho Press.

What this passage highlighted for me is just how much I am stuck at the moment of the injury. And that is where I must begin my healing. When I was injured, I was serving members of the public, and while I would do things differently, I would absolutely serve in the same way. I don’t regret what happened or how it happened, I simply wish it hadn’t happened. And yet we can’t go back and change things, so acceptance is where I need to start.

Recently, the man I had hoped to marry asked that our relationship be completed and we move apart from each other after 5 years of life together. Another layer of excruciating pain and more things I cannot change. No matter how hard we try, we cannot make someone love us or choose to stay. To be exceedingly clear, this man is one of the best I have ever known and he still is, even though we are no longer doing life together. Who he is as a man did not change with his decision to be done. I love him deeper than I have ever loved anyone. He gently witnessed the dismantling of my entire life, hopes, dreams, vision, purpose, etc. and I had hoped he would help me rebuild a glorious new life. But perhaps his role was just to be there, giving me grace and love and safety, as I watched my life crumble and fall. He met me a month before I was injured and walked through all of the pain and loss with me. So his absence feels unbearable now. I cannot go back and change things, so acceptance is where I must begin.

However, for the moment, I want to scream and run and never accept anything I consider “bad” or painful in my life. I don’t want this life of ruins. But until I can find a way to accept what has happened – really accept it – I will not be able to see the future or the path forward. So until then, I will sit in the ashes and ruins of what my life has become. And I will do the work to process and cry and grieve. I will work on acceptance of what is. I will work on acceptance of what that means for my future. Then, someday soon I hope, I will rise from the ashes and the ruins and I will move ever forward.

Forth and fear no darkness…