No Exits

It was an exceptionally painful group last night. Anniversaries and birthdays crop up from traumas past, certainly not yet forgotten, nor will they ever be. Old wounds reappear as if they happened yesterday. Raw and painful, they seem to almost physically present themselves.

There is something sacred about sitting in a room with women who are mourning so deeply. We grieve as if alone. When we speak it’s as if we are thinking thoughts outloud that we dare not say in front of anyone.

A secret society of sorts I guess.

As I drove home on this cold, dark, and rainy winter night, a sadness so palpable begins to set in. Not only for myself but for the others in the group.

It’s taken me a year to finally learn how to “just sit” with the sadness of others and myself. Sit with a hole so deeply embedded in your heart and soul, no one can understand it. There is no way around it.

No one can fix it. No one can make it better. No one can change it.

Years ago I couldn’t even think about the sadness.

Last year I couldn’t sit still thinking about the sadness. It occupied every waking moment, intruded every dream I had at night, and blinded me to any hope or aspiration.

I saw fear and sadness at each and every turn. It was everywhere. No escape. Like the Satre novel, No Exits, where different levels of hell exist for everyone. You are stuck in your own personal hell with every despicable character and perpetrator that crossed your path.

There have been many profound moments in this group.

Last night something clicked that makes so much sense to me now.

As the trauma is dissected in front of us all, TGD gently and quietly guides us through the reality and maze of tragedy and trauma.

TGD is a healer in every sense of the word. The healing is magical when you consider the depths at which you once were.

How this woman does this is beyond me. I see the healing powers with others and not just myself. And I look- I actually watch to see how she does this and it’s still a mystery to me. Her answers and even her questions just flow. It seems so natural to her, like laughing or driving or reading a book. But it’s not as trite as that. It’s her passion, her cause, her gift to others.


“You cannot alter the tragedy”, she says, “No one can take away your pain. It will never go away. It is embedded in your being. It cannot be fixed.”

“What you can do,” she continued, “is to recognize it for what it was, a horrible, senseless tragedy that has changed your life. Once that is recognized and that tragedy is put in its place, you can continue to rebuild the life that was taken. Make changes, takes risks, and begin to trust yourselves.”

Was this the first time I’ve heard these words?
Was this the first time TGD said these words?
Was this the first time I was ready to hear these words?

Maybe a combination of all three. I don’t know.
I do know that sitting with the trauma, seeing it, dissecting it outloud with others and facing it has somehow put the trauma in remission.

Yes, the trauma has happened.

But that was then and this is now.

Today remission. Tomorrow perhaps I'll discover the cure.