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A Tool for Healing the Healer
My own call came during a particularly difficult period in my life, though I took my time in actually answering the call. You might say that my alarm went off, but I kept hitting the "snooze" button, reluctant to get out of my nice, comfortable bed. I was living in West Virginia when I first heard the call. I'd always felt like an outsider, and sometimes had the feeling that I had been born into the wrong family -- maybe even into the wrong century. Then one morning in early March 1989, as I walked out to get the newspaper, I slipped on my icy porch and landed flat on my back. For a moment, I wasn't sure I could even stand up. I felt dizzy when I was finally able to get to my feet, and I knew I'd injured my back and neck. For weeks, I felt as if my head wasn't properly connected to my body anymore. Finally one of my students recommended a chiropractor, and with his help, I was on my way to healing my body. This was my first wake-up call, though it took me quite a while before I realized it. It took me two car accidents, both re-injuring the same areas, as well as a few other trials along the way, before I finally woke up. My real awakening began when a therapist called me a "wounded healer." I laughed, telling him I was no healer. I was a writer. That's what I did, and I identified myself completely as a writer and a teacher. But his words stuck with me, coming to mind at the oddest times. A healer. Could my life-path really be in healing, rather than in writing? Why did I need to suffer so many traumatic events before I finally got my life on the proper path? Was this simply part of my learning process, a way of imprinting new material in my stubborn brain? Or did I need to suffer in order to help others heal? Go To Page: 1 2
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