Prayer is talking to something or anything with which we seek union, even if we are bitter or insane or broken. (In fact, these are probably the best possible conditions under which to pray.) Prayer is taking a chance that against all odds and past history, we are loved and chosen, and do not have to get it together before we show up. The opposite may be true: We may not be able to get it together until after we show up in such miserable shape.
— Anne Lamott, Help Thanks Wow, p. 5-6
No matter how overt or covert the abuser is, all abusers do one thing universally. That one thing is this: abusers define their partners as if they were living within them and knew their inner world: what they are, their motives, thoughts, feelings, and so forth.
Abusers behave as though they were their partner, child, friend, or acquaintance. That is, abusers act as if they know what another person is, thinks, needs, feels, wants, and is doing, did, and should do.
In summary, when someone defines you in any way, tells you what you are (“too sensitive,” “stupid,” “hopeless.”), or actually tells you your motives (for example, “You’re trying to start a fight,” “You want to win,” “You want to have the last word”), he or she is behaving as if he or she were you, or were God!
In normal discourse among people, if you criticize someone, you are usually quick to apologize when you realize that you have no right (unless invited) to critique the other.
If verbal abuse has slammed into your consciousness with assaults that attempt to erase your own awareness of who you are and how you perceive yourself and even your existence, then verbal abuse may brainwash you into believing that you actually are a person who is too sensitive.
This is what is wrong with verbal abuse and why I support your victory over it.
— Patricia Evans, Victory Over Verbal Abuse, p. 36
In prayer, I see the suffering bathed in light. In God, there is no darkness. I see God’s light permeate them, soak into them, guide their feet. I want to tell God what to do: “Look, Pal, this is a catastrophe. You have got to shape up.” But it wouldn’t work. So I pray for people who are hurting, that they be filled with air and light. Air and light heal; they somehow get into those dark, musty places, like spiritual antibiotics.
— Anne Lamott, Help Thanks Wow: The Three Essential Prayers, p. 16
Poor September! How much easier, to be hard and bright and heartless. Instead, a very adult thing was happening in that green, new heart. For there are two kinds of forgiveness in the world: the one you practice because everything really is all right, and what went before is mended. The other kind of forgiveness you practice because someone needs desperately to be forgiven, or because you need just as badly to forgive them, for a heart can grab hold of old wounds and go sour as milk over them. You, being sharp and clever, will have noticed that I used “practice.” Forgiveness always takes practice to get right, and September was very new at it. She had none of the first sort in her.
— Catherynne M. Valente, The Girl Who Fell Beneath Fairyland and Led the Revels There, p. 200
We can decide, once and for all, to never consider ourselves unfairly treated. What happens to us or around us is an opportunity to make an observation, say a prayer, and then move on. What freedom there is in that!
— Karen Casey, Let Go Now, p. 93
Few practices soothe our spirits as much as gratitude. Feeling appreciative of all that life has given us and continues to give us makes life thrive in our systems. Make gratitude a practice. Do not look for only the large and obvious as a reason for gratefulness. Learn to see your life through a wide-angle lens that includes every detail.
— Carolyn Myss, Why People Don’t Heal and How They Can, p. 192
Only now am I grasping the importance of looking backward. Of remembrance. My father finally wrote out his memories for a reason. I took on a year of reading books for a reason. Because words are witness to life: they record what has happened, and they make it all real. Words create the stories that become history and become unforgettable. Even fiction portrays truth: good fiction is truth. Stories about lives remembered bring us backward while allowing us to move forward.
— Nina Sankovitch, Tolstoy and the Purple Chair, p. 73
I have already elaborated on the danger of living in the consciousness of woundology. Although there is no harm in expressing to another the pain and fear that illness brings into your life, you want to avoid falling into the pit of constantly “speaking pain.”
Toward that end, create a new vocabulary for yourself that describes your condition in optimistic, healing, or spiritual terms. . . . One person I met referred to her illness as “a friend who has come to teach me great truths.” . . . Once healed, she actually held a ritual saying farewell to her friend — a fine antidote to lingering woundology that more people should try.
The purpose of creating a positive vocabulary for your situation is to assist you in “outgrowing your illness.” You want to feel that you are larger and more powerful than the disease present in your body. You want to remind yourself constantly that you have numerous healthy resources in your body upon which you can rely to come to your assistance — you have love, you have hope, you have faith. These are powerful allies. . . .
Write of all the wonderful experiences you have had in your life. Don’t look for only the sad moments that could have contributed to your illness or life challenge. The positive times contribute to your health — use them. Write about the loving relationships you have now and have had in the past. Remember the fun times. Fill yourself with memories of times that made you feel in love with your life and grateful to be alive.
— Caroline Myss, PhD, Why People Don’t Heal and How They Can, p. 189-190
Maybe you are in the right. Maybe you are standing on the higher moral ground in this situation, and the other person is clearly wrong. You feel that someone ought to hold the person accountable, and so you are doing your best to bear witness to this injustice — afraid that if you don’t, no one will, and that person will get away with it. Something inside you doesn’t want an injustice to be allowed to stand, unchallenged and unrectified. So you remain attached to being right, but that attachment causes you to suffer. You are the one who is obsessed, and you are the one who is losing sleep over someone else’s actions — therefore, you are the one who will have stress-related health problems. Meanwhile, the villain in this story might be peacefully unconcerned about his wrongdoing and blissfully unaware of your rage — and he is sleeping just fine at night!
— Mary Hayes Grieco, Unconditional Forgiveness, p. 25
People often substitute “I should” for “I want.” I call this the beginning of internal civil war. The minute you say, “I should,” you have created division within yourself. “I should” always comes from others. Parents, rules, religious teachings, and cultural norms give us our shoulds. Not that this is necessarily bad. We do need to learn how to function in society in a helpful way. At some point along the road to adulthood, though, we need to internalize those ideas or discard them for good. If you say “I should,” it means some part of you doesn’t want to. Honor those parts! They have precious information for you. Let them speak to you fully, like a good council. Hear everyone’s opinion, and then make your singular decision.
If you can say “I want,” then you are coming from a more integrated place inside yourself. Try it for a moment: “I should clean the kitchen.” Doesn’t that just tighten your stomach and make you feel as though you don’t want to? Now say “I want to clean the kitchen!” How does that feel different? When we say “I want to,” we are taking complete ownership of our situation. No excuses, no resistance, no blame.
— Susan Pease Banitt, The Trauma Toolkit, p. 8-9