Healing is a Creative Process

The healing process is full of endings and beginnings. We are done with that behaviour, that pattern, that job, that way of being, that relationship, that. We are done with that government, that policy, that repression and oppression. We are done because we have been worn down and worn out. We are marked and weary. We are angry. 

It’s almost always discomfort and pain that bring us to surrender to the healing waters of change, and grief is almost always a part of the picture. When we are healing we are reckoning with the universal truth: everything is always changing, even us. Even the structures that have been presented to us as permanent. Even the things we never wanted to lose.

Bless us—we want to hold on. We want the comfort of the familiar, even when it is kind of terrible. It feels safer, even when it is unsafe. We don’t want to lose our footing, lose our loved ones, lose the old versions of ourselves. We don’t want to lose our sense of stability, of predictability, of structure. Of course we don’t.

Living can feel like the floor falling out from under us, again and again. We struggle to imagine what different could look like, and we are scared of what is next. It takes energy to recreate a new vision for our lives, and our world, and who among us is not tired?

Bless us—we forget that endings make way for new beginnings. We forget that the clearing process gives us the opportunity to choose what is next for us, our communities, our world. We are caught in fear, anger, and let’s be honest—our relentless and increasingly demanding schedules, and often a lack of resources, too. 

Healing ourselves and our world is a marathon. We need nutrition. We need training. We need rest stops. We need examples. We need hope. We need each other. When we run on empty, we wither. When we run on nourishment, we thrive. 

Creativity works just like that. Have you tried creating something from a place of emptiness? It may be possible for some time, but it probably doesn’t feel very good, and eventually it withers. If we are tired and hungry, all we can hear is exhaustion and emptiness.

Dreaming and imagination flourish when we are rested and spiritually fed. When we are resourced, that is—reconnected to source—the visions we have for our lives and our world spill over like a fountain.

In a healing process of any kind, there is challenge. We need some support, and some grit to look towards what hurts, and tend to the wounds we wish were never there in the first place. 

Let us remember the joy in healing, too. Let us remember where we are headed. Let us find joy in the recreation, in the exploring of our dreams, and the bringing them to life. There is so much beauty and hope to be found here. There is so much we don’t have control over personally and collectively, and yet there are choices available to us.

To borrow Glennon Doyle’s language: what is the truest and most beautiful vision of your life that you can imagine? What is the truest and most beautiful vision of the world that you can imagine?

• How can you live into that vision with the small and large choices, practices, and resources that are already available to you?

• What sustenance can you call on? What does rest, support and community look like for you?

• Who can hold your hope for you when you feel hopeless?

• What will remind you of where you are headed when you get scared or stumped? How often will you need to be reminded?

• How can you be gentle with yourself along the way?

And also: creativity is known to have its cycles. Much like the seasons of the earth, that is, creation itself—we will experience decline, rest, renewal, and blooming in our healing and creative endeavors.

I write this to you in spring, when the natural world is coming back alive all around us here in the Northern hemisphere, so I am focusing on the qualities of renewal. However, you may be at a different spot in the creativity or healing cycle. We don’t need to force action when we are in a time of rest, because we can trust the cycle always comes back around.

If it’s not your springtime yet, know that spring is coming. 🫶🏻

Questions to Ask When Waking
by Bernadette Miller

What would you do if you really knew
that life was wanting to sing through you?

What would you say if your words could convey
prayers that the world was waiting to pray?

What would you be if your being could free
some piece of the world’s un-whispered beauty?

What would you stop to bless and caress
if you believed that blessing could address
our painful illusions of brokenness?

What would you harvest from heartache and pain
if you understood loss as a way to regain
the never-forsaken terrain of belonging?

What would you love if your love could ignite
a sea full of stars on the darkest night?