You know, in the traumas of life there are gifts.
I love metaphors and this one came to mind: a painful situation can be like a dark glass jar that is shattered. There are the shards, lying on the floor, the jar looked like it was holding together but it broke, and there you go. Now you can really view what was inside. It looks like black, tarry, sticky goo...really messy. You are picking out shards when some ardent curiosity compels you to clean off the goo, to probe further. And once you really get going in cleaning off the goo of sadness and anger and resentment and rejection and grief and betrayal and lies and any ugly thing that was in that jar, you find things. In that sticky goo are hard objects that are not shards. Clean them off, burn them off, sing them off and look. They sparkle and shine. They are diamonds! Treasures! Oh lucky day! Your jar was full of jewels...pearls...glittering beauty! You just had to break it open and clean them off!
Maybe someone else broke the jar, maybe you invited someone in your jar and they imploded it. Maybe a situation broke the jar.
But had the jar not been shattered, you would not have found those diamonds. Diamonds such as self-worth, grace, joy, compassion, forgiveness, God, trust, and truth.
I see women today rising up in their own power. I see them tired of being controlled and criticized and demeaned and lied to by forces of patriarchy and even their own husbands, ex-husbands, fathers, and sadly, sometimes, other women. I see them angry, rightfully so, and motivated out of this anger to bring healing to the hurt that is in here and out there.
One of the diamonds women find in their traumas is the "church of each other"...the great sisterhood.
I call such sisters, such finders-of-jewels, "Metamorphosisters". These are the sisters who fearlessly embrace their own lives, who make their own names, who value each other.
They have no fear of grief, of anger, of joy, of laughter. They have no fear of speaking their truth, even if that truth is fear at the time. They have no qualms about showing compassion. They will make their mistakes out loud, with relish, and BE all woman, with gusto. They are not afraid to be humbled by their own folly.
They have been to the depths of unworkable marriages. They have known relationships where love hurts and have learned the hard way about emotional abuse. They have been laid low by life, and love. They have lost babies. They have lost dreams. They have lost parents.
They know how to have a good bitch session. They know how to lovingly call you on your own stuff. The embrace honesty and building character. They have complete empathy because they can say they've BEEN there. They apologize to patch up rough spots because they care. They have weakness and they have great strength.
They are the ones you cry out to when you are feeling darkly human, and lost to your own self.
They are unafraid to plunge the spiritual depths of love and life, with each other.
They know how to take broken things and make them into something beautiful. They are masters of transformation, creators in the moment, designers of their own destiny, mothers, lovers, workers of love. A metamorphosister and I were talking today, and she was saying how it is BECAUSE of our traumas that we thrive, not in SPITE of our traumas. BECAUSE of them. This, my dear friends, is the very meaning of the strong and beautiful metamorphosister.
I am so deeply grateful for these women in my life.
Happy Galentine's Day to metamorphosisters. You inspire me every day!