Is Pain the Only way to grow?
A lesson my son taught me when he was just a little boy.
I have this very precious memory of my son. He was about 2 yrs old and it was bedtime. I remember him laying in the bed, looking up at me and, with the sweetest little raspy voice, singing…
“You are so beautiful, mommy….. to me…”
(that Joe Cocker song from 1974)
The word “mommy” wasn’t part of the song. That was his little extra touch. Part of what made it so sweet. And it’s one of the most precious memories I have.
Moments like that are sacred to me. Because they’re timeless. My son is 30 years old now. And I remember that night like it was yesterday. It’s etched in my mind. A forever impression forged by love. That’s the magic of human connection.
2018 was an excruciatingly hard year for me. I got sick and ended up taking my first ride in an ambulance to the hospital. Due to my illness, I lost my business. And, eventually my home. I lived with physical pain almost daily. And had back spasms severe enough to keep me stuck in bed for hours, waiting for help to come. At times, I thought I might even be losing my mind.
My entire world had been upended. And I honestly felt quite lost.
I spent most of that year alone. My daughter (the baby) had moved out of the house and I was living by myself for the first time in life. Being alone while suffering made everything so much harder.
I didn’t have human connection.
At least, not in the flesh.
I was living in AZ at the time and most of my family was in Los Angeles. So, I couldn’t just go lean on Mom or Dad. I couldn’t spend time with my children or many of the other people who meant the most to me. That put me in a very lonely place.
Typically, I’m an extremely social person. I thrive on interaction. I built my business coaching practice (the one I lost) through networking groups. So, I had a huge network of people in AZ. But I was struggling so much that I couldn’t bring myself to go to any of those groups. I was embarrassed by what was going on with me. I wanted them to see me succeeding, not struggling. So, I stayed home. And suffered in silence.
One thing that comforted me that year was something I read in a book at my mom’s house while I was visiting. The book was a new translation of Lao Tzu’s “Tao Te Ching.” The statement that caught my attention read:
When the uncarved block goes to the craftsman,
it is transformed into something useful.
The wise craftsman cuts as little as necessary
because he follows the great integrity
You see, at that point, I had come to believe that everything happening in my life was the result of a commitment that I made. A very real decision to live the life I had always dreamed of. To let go of my fears and go for the big vision I had been holding in my heart for decades.
When everything in my life went crazy, at first, I wondered if I was being punished. I thought maybe what I wanted was selfish. Or bad somehow. And that scared me.
But when I read that statement by Lao Tzu, something else occurred to me. Maybe God was just helping me. Maybe I was being transformed into something more useful by the wisest craftsman of all. Maybe the pain was meant to refine me.
That was a very comforting thought. And it got me through some dark, painful days.
After a while, though. I got tired. Being in pain, especially long-term, really wears you out. Two years had gone by and I was still struggling emotionally, physically and financially. I had prayed and pleaded for relief. I had stretched and pushed myself through incredibly difficult challenges. And still, it felt like there was no end to my suffering.
I wanted to grow. I wanted to be refined. Especially if it meant that I would be able to live the life I wanted so desperately. But I was exhausted. I wanted out. I figured there had to be a better way. An easier way. So, I started to ask a new question.
Is pain the only way that I can grow?
Something about that idea bothered me. I knew that growth is often uncomfortable. But did it always have to be painful? I wasn’t so sure.
Then, I remembered my baby boy. And how many times I have told people, “my son saved me.”
When he was born, I was a 20 year old party girl. Hanging out in clubs almost every weekend. Becoming a mom changed me.
I knew I wanted to have more to give to him. Not material stuff. Things that I felt were far more important. I wanted to give him a better mom. Better tools. A chance at a better life.
So, I went on a search and found God. I found a deeper purpose. And a spiritual community I could raise him in that would provide positive role models and support.
My son caused me to grow. I wanted to be better for him.
And that had nothing to do with pain.
I changed my life because I LOVE him.
He is my proof that love causes us to grow just as much as pain does.
Love really is a very powerful motivating force.
What I’ve come to believe is that it’s not necessarily pain or love that causes change to take place. It’s life. It’s experiences. It’s the journey.
Growth comes as a natural part of all that we see, do and observe. That’s what makes life so sacred to me. Every moment is ripe with opportunity. Whether we win or lose, there’s growth. Whether there’s joy or pain, we can expand with it.
When we have an experience it changes us. We can never go back to who we were before it happened. The shift can be extremely subtle. Or it can be drastic. But change always happens.
We are always transforming. Always becoming more useful.
It’s been almost 4 years since that life-changing trip to the hospital. And I’m still working to overcome the losses from that year. I still live with a lot of pain. But I’ve come a long way.
I have some powerful motivation helping me to pull through. Love for my children. My family. And friends. Love for God. Love for myself. And a compelling vision I’m determined to build.
I no longer feel alone. In fact, I’ve got more support than anyone could ever ask for. I’m a very blessed woman. Surrounded by a whole lot of amazing people.
I’ve finally come to realize that there isn’t really an end to all of this. Not the kind of end I was looking for when I was sad and feeling lost. This is just life. Pain and challenges will continue to come, but so will those beautiful connected moments. The laughter. The singing. The joy. The revelations.
And the hope.
The future is never certain. But I’ve learned to trust that there is always a much bigger picture than I can see.
There are countless ways I can get to each one of the goals I’m working toward. The picture will become clearer with each step. So, I’ll do my best to relax and enjoy the view on the way.
