2.30am and the pain was getting intense. I had woken up several times in the night but didn’t want to make a fuss. A shadow part of me that had surfaced time and time again in the past was in the room. ‘Don’t make a fuss, you will be alright, don’t bring attention to yourself, it will be fine.’
Luckily the more reasonable adult part of me took over from this cautionary voice and I finally pressed the buzzer to alert a nurse. She arrived within seconds, knocking gently and then entering the room. Asking me if I was okay, I told her about the intense pain from my right knee. When she looked, I could see it had blown up like a small balloon, the circulation cut off. The stockings had been put on (by me) to help alleviate the challenge of DVT, but had put unnecessary pressure on the back of my knee, as I thought they were over the knee socks – they were not. I felt so silly but also relieved when she quickly peeled it back and immediately got the circulation back into my leg, my knee deflating as quickly as it had been blown up.
That shadow voice – not bring attention is one I know well as it periodically raises its head in my working and personal life. Where it comes from is the challenge of being the 5th child in a family where time was scant in terms of attention. There was an unspoken rule that you just got on with things, ‘stiff upper lip and all that’.
The opposite of the keep quiet voice is the one that takes action. The part of me that takes charge and calls for attention, waving the red flag and alerting people to see the problems and face the issue. Not caring that I might delay, change course or use time in a different way.
As the pain subsided in my right knee at that quiet time at 2.30a.m. in the morning, I sensed that my mum was standing by my side. I could feel her with me, an intense presence giving comfort, no words, just presence. The time before dusk and dawn are often referred to as thin places, a liminal space where some people believe that there is a door between this world and the next. She had stepped through to comfort me.
This beautiful poem by Joyce Rupp gives a clue to what might happen in a thin place.
Lead me in your love
Thin places
Where the door between this world
And the next door is cracked open
For a moment
And the light is not all on the other side
Thin places transform us
In thin places we become our
More essential selves.
These liminal spaces are places where we can be taken away from our normal roles, normal parts of self. They are a place where we can explore new ways of being with ourselves. A time when rules can be suspended and a chance for transformation to occur.
So what happened to me in that liminal space?
I allowed myself to cry.
The first tears that I allowed to fall post surgery.
Tears that acknowledged my fear.
Tears that allowed me to drop the brave exterior.
Tears that allowed for relief to be in the room.
They were healing tears.
I stayed awake for a few hours, putting down my book just before dawn at 4am. Ready to sleep knowing that on this journey some voices will be more helpful than others.
