The Path of the Wounded Healer

The path of the Healer isn’t for the faint of heart, especially when you’re still learning to heal yourself. I find myself often wondering who heals the healer? Sure, faith makes a fine pillow, but there isn’t much rest here for a weary soul. I understand why many healers never embrace their calling; because they’re so bogged down by their own mental health.

I speak of my personal struggles openly because so many of us struggle in similar ways, but do so in silence with no one to turn to because we try so hard to blend in and appear “normal.” I want anyone walking this path who feels the way I do to know they are not alone. As a Wounded Healer, it is important to take time for your own mental health as well. You can give of yourself and share your heart but setting boundaries is vital to the sanctity of your gifts.

I’ve always been quiet about my gifts, and with good reason. Society is straight up savage! Come out talking about being a Healer and watch the adversity you’re faced with. You will be mocked, ridiculed, tested and even laughed at most of the time. Stand in your authenticity anyway!

Suppressing your gifts only creates more anxiety and additional stress. Healing gifts are a constant FLOW, and when not used properly, the energy of these gifts can backfire and create all kinds of trouble. And remember, the ones who need your guidance will gravitate toward you anyway while the others will simply fall back because they cannot tune in to your higher frequency.

Transmutation of suffering into healing is the Wounded Healer’s most precious gift of all and that healing helps the entire world evolve in consciousness. It starts with you!

-Dena M. Daigle  ❤ 🙏

NOLA – Eric Syrdal

FREE VERSE REVOLUTION

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Before the Storm:
Chronological reference to our lives that were

During the Storm:
Chronological reference to our lives in exile

After the Storm:
Chronological reference to our lives as they currently exist

When we speak of events
around here
this is how we
give a point of reference
to each other

Everyone who lives here
who calls this place
home
knows…
Everyone who
knows….
understands
and everyone who understands
has the same physical response
when it is spoken

it is a head nod…

Sometimes it is accompanied
by closed eyes

Sometimes it is accompanied
by a look to the ground

Sometimes it is accompanied
by a tear or a pinch
at the back of the throat

I love
the wrought iron heart
of this city

Polished stone
next to crumbling brick

She’s very old
And her soul
has lived many Lives
she is tattooed in beauty and pain

She always…

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Bittersweet Endings

It’s been over 3 weeks since my world was shaken and flipped upside-down. Speaking specifically about the ending of my relationship, I am finally able to open up about it without breaking down into tears which, oddly enough, brings me comfort knowing that a deep healing is taking place. Pain is merely the catalyst.

Make no mistake, there will be no mud-slinging in this post, no bitter blame game, no destruction of character by words, etc. No, this post is about growth. This is about gaining wisdom through personal experience. This is about approaching a deeper level of understanding when it comes to love, loss and the pain that comes along with it. This post is about me reclaiming my inner peace, surrendering to the divine flow and graciously letting go of what no longer nourishes my soul. This is my declaration that the war is over.

“When you’re willing to feel it, you can heal it,” is a quote that has never resonated with me quite as deeply as it does today. You see we are taught early on to run away from pain.  We mask it with makeup, dark shades and fake smiles; we drink until we can’t remember our own names, much less why we are suffering; or we find temporary comfort in the arms of another while closing our eyes and envisioning someone else. We will literally do anything in our power to avoid it and just hope that one day it will subside. What we fail to realize, is that by doing so we are merely burying a bomb beneath the soil of our hearts and waiting for someone new to step on the pressure plate.

Personally, I have found comfort in surrounding myself with the people that I love and in doing things to keep myself busy and my mind distracted. Seems innocent enough, but it is still an effort to avoid feeling pain; a coping mechanism if you will, much like those that I mentioned above. Yet, at the end of the day when all is quiet and still, chaos of thought consumes me and I am once again faced with the very agony I tried to ignore.

So it seems the only way through this is to allow myself to feel every single emotion and to stop running from them. I thought I learned that lesson already in other aspects of my healing journey, but as the spiral of life uncoils, here I am once again back to that particular curve to learn a deeper understanding of what I thought I knew. This is the beauty of inner reflection and keeping an open dialogue with your higher self. So here I am, open and raw, fresh wounds still bleeding, welcoming every ounce of pain, recalling every beautiful memory and every transgression that led me here, just trying to stitch my heart back together.

I often hear people say, “Love hurts.” But you know something? I have to disagree with that. Attachment hurts. Unrealistic expectations hurt. Rejection hurts. Conformity for the sake of “love” hurts and resistance to reality hurts, but true love in its purest form does everything except hurt.  Love heals. Love restores. Love replenishes. The real issue is that most of us are ignorant to what love really is, so we confuse it with attachment while having zero knowledge of the difference between the two.  This relationship taught me to distinguish those differences clearly.

You see, attachment is simply a strong bond, the string that connects us to something or someone we admire. When we are merely attached to someone, we are focused upon the ways in which that person can make us happy. In this type of relationship, we become heavily dependent upon our partner to meet our emotional needs. Instead of confronting our own demons, we expect our partners to battle them for us and fix our self-esteem issues.  We expect them to fill a void within. We hold them accountable for our happiness, which places impossible expectations upon them and sets the stage for failure when they cannot meet those expectations. Attachment is self-serving and cumbersome, the complete opposite of love.

While, attachment’s root is based on the fear of being alone, love is the freedom to explore, the freedom to grow. It is limitless and selfless, knowing no boundaries. Love is flexible and ever evolving in nature. It is a partnership that stimulates growth within one another so that each of you may become the best versions of yourself that you can be. It requires transparency and vulnerability. A mutual loving relationship allows us to be our authentic selves without the fear of exposing our weaknesses and having them used against us.

Love is the fertile soil upon which seeds may blossom into something beautiful when given the proper care. However, it requires the understanding that some blooms will flourish in the warmth of Spring only to wither in the chill of Winter, while others are evergreen; yet both require the same amount of sustenance. Love simply provides without expectation.

While I am certainly no relationship expert (my track record can attest to that), I have loved and lost enough to know now that it was never love that hurt me.  And while this relationship had a bittersweet ending, I am thankful for the experience and the lessons that it taught me.

We are creatures of habit and we crave consistency while fearing change. But sometimes that change is exactly what is needed for us to be happy.  So when things change and bring us pain, just remember that there can be no rainbow without a little rain.

Dena M. Daigle (C) 2018

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Christine Ray – Composition of a Woman Like no Other

We love you Christine!

Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

“The world needs strong women who will lift and build others, who will love and be loved. Women who live bravely, both tender and fierce. Women of indomitable will.” – Amy Tenney

I don’t know who Amy Tenney is, have never heard of her, nor read anything other than the above quote, (that I know of), that can be traced back to her, but after reading that very quote, I think Amy Tenney may know Christine Ray.

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If the heart of the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective is the impressive collection of writers and their work, editors and their passion, readers and their appreciation, then surely Christine Ray has been a potent infusion of life for us all.

For the past two years, Christine Ray has been a valued, and much loved, member of the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective. As a writer, Christine is nothing short of impressive. As a poet…

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Sudden Denouement’s First Short Story Literary Prize – Open For Submissions Nov 1, 2018

Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

Since its inception in 2016, The Sudden Denouement Literary Collective has had the privilege of featuring some of today’s most fearless writers. With members that span the globe and editors who share a passion for pushing boundaries, we as a collective have enjoyed reading, promoting, and watching the success of each individual artist as they have grown in their craft and left their mark upon the literary world.

Now, as writers and readers, editors and fans, we at Sudden Denouement Literary Collective are ecstatic to open up the doors to our outstanding, award winning collective, and invite you all in to pull up a chair and tell us your stories.

The Sudden Denouement Literary Collective, and Sudden Denouement Publishing, are pleased to dip our toes into the waters of great literary contests and announce our first ever short story literary prize with a call for submissions from all of you.

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I Remember

Wide-eyes in amber hues brimming with salty tears
Four years old in red ruffles and day of the week panties
Mama’s precious baby girl
Trembling, frozen with fear, cold and confused
Silenced, but I remember

Truth or dare on the trampoline
Triple dog five second French kiss or eat worms
Mama’s little daredevil
and innocent boys following the footsteps of their forefathers
Busted, I remember

Open window and moonlit shadows dancing on the wall
Thirteen and rebellious; Mama’s little wild child
“Everyone else is doing it. Don’t you love me?”
Pressured, I remember

Head down, tears flowing, pushing past the picket line
Fifteen and pregnant, Mama’s dirty whore
Cold steel forced inside me, life ripped from my womb
“MURDERER!” I remember

Strobe lights and rap music, twerking teenage dreams
Sixteen with nothing to lose, Mama’s party girl
Beer run – two guys in a Chevy truck looking for some fun
“Drink up baby girl.”
Room spinning, losing consciousness. I remember

Bright lights, bloodshot eyes and grunting,
hip bones pounding into supple flesh
Incoherent but coming to, Mama’s naive fool.
Struggling to scream and unable to move
Tossed curbside next to the trashcan, battered and used.
Damaged, I remember

Butterflies taking flight, head floating in the clouds
Young and reckless, making plans for the future
They said we’d never make it so we set out to prove them wrong
Independent and headstrong, Mama’s girl on the run.
Head over heels, I remember

Dimly lit room, cold gel smeared across my belly
fluttering of a tiny heartbeat, fear and joy intertwined
Mama’s gift from the heavens, I shall protect you with my life
I often dreamed of the day I would cradle you in my arms
My existence had a purpose, I remember

Blood dripping down trembling legs,
Blurry lights passing by in a frenzied pace
pain unimaginable as the room fades to black.
Floating between dimensions, struggling to find my way back.
Wings gifted, Mama’s little angel
Inconsolable, I remember

Silence shattered like broken glass
“Ms. Daigle, I’m afraid you may never bear children…”
A woman’s worth destroyed in thirteen syllables
Fertile soil now barren – hopeful heart destroyed and abandoned
Mama said it was for the best, I remember

Consumed by heartache, weighted by grief and despair
I sought love in the form of flying fists and rage
Black eyes and body bruises, Mama taught me well
I deserved it, I remember

Surgical steel piercing my vein
Injecting poison to numb my pain
Mama’s little junkie
There was no escape, I remember.

Body gone limp, heartbeat slowing
Discarded by a coward, left there overdosing
Silent screams as tears rolled down my cheeks
Vomit staining sweat soaked sheets
I am fading and Mama can’t save me now
but I was born a warrior, I remembered

I begged God for mercy and fought my way back to the light
Never again will I be swallowed by the darkness of the night
I am immortal, and I remember everything.

-Dena M. Daigle, 2018

 

This piece was inspired by a beautiful piece written by Rachel Finch that moved me. Her words helped me find the strength to release those that have been locked inside of me. It is a testament to her strength and resilience which we can all appreciate. Rachel’s piece is featured below. 44710536_2209525525995879_526698698571251712_n.jpg

Constellations

If I drew a map for you across my body, one made entirely of stars marking all of the places ever violated by human hands, my bones would be wrapped in a galaxy made of flesh.

A pink protostar would mark the spot where my innocence was once sacred and pure; and those tiny flecks of stardust due north would represent the seeds of my womb that never got to bloom. The black hole covering my mouth would portray the silent screams and pleas for help that were written all over my face, yet no one heard. And the supernova adorning my chest would depict the moment that my heart exploded into millions of pieces because no one would save me.

I’d draw the blue supergiant, Rigel, and its star cluster family to represent the bruises left across my throat by those who hoped to silence me. And if the stars didn’t paint the picture vividly enough, I would sketch a grid around my head to show you the way the fabric of time seems to fold in on itself and repeat in infinite loops of pain.

You see, this is the map leading to the little girl who lost her sense of direction once upon a time in the Milky Way. So if I showed you the way to my soul, would you love me enough to trace my constellations, or would you simply look the other way?

🖤 – Dena M. Daigle  2018

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