When You're Going Through It

Rob has a definition for comedy:

Pain plus time.

Honestly, I find that almost as funny as the pain itself.

In time.

We all have those stories. Those moments that were absolutely, unequivocally not funny while they were happening.

Women, do we not all have a period story? And does it not almost always involve wearing white?

My only saving grace with my most embarrassing period story was that I was wearing black.

Trust me. It was still bad.

But 40 years later?

It's funny.

Then there are the other stories. The struggles. The turmoil. The pain. The moments when life seems to have taken a running leap directly into your face.

And sometimes, eventually, there is a lesson.

When Rob was a ski coach for the 9–11-year-old crowd, the most coveted award of the year was The Best Wipeout.

Because apparently, if you fall spectacularly enough, someday you might get a trophy.

Which brings me to the question:

What about when you're still in the wipeout?

When you're in the thick of things, people love to say:

This too shall pass.

Nothing lasts forever.

Buck up.

Oh, that's nothing to worry about.

I've said them all.

I've thought them all.

And honestly? Sometimes what you really want is for someone to look at you and say:

“Damn. That's hard.”

Not fix it.

Not explain it.

Not put a silver lining on it before you've even had a chance to feel the cloud.

Just acknowledge it.

Before I stepped into Shamanic Practices, even as a therapist, I wanted someone to blame. I wanted someone to fix it.

But here's the inconvenient truth:

I am always in charge of how I respond.

Not always my first response. Fear exists for a reason. Our nervous systems are ancient, brilliant, occasionally overenthusiastic protectors.

But after that first response?

We have choices.

And that is where the work begins.

Yes, there is a place for watching television, scrolling social media, hiding under the covers, and eating something directly from the container.

Sometimes you need to survive the moment.

But eventually, we come back to the work.

While studying Q'ero Shamanism, I learned a beautiful way of moving through difficult experiences. I have reinterpreted it through my own understanding of the Celtic Spirit Wheel—not a Medicine Wheel, a term rooted in Native North American traditions that are not my own.

This practice makes room for the feelings.

The thoughts.

The stories.

Oh, the stories.

And eventually, it asks:

If I don't want this, what do I want?

That is where the magic begins.

Not the sparkly, everything-is-perfect kind of magic.

The real kind.

The kind where you realize that even in the middle of the mess, you still have a hand on the steering wheel.

And if you can?

Go outside.

Feel the grass beneath your feet.

Stand beneath a tree.

Listen to moving water.

Let the natural world remind your nervous system that it is not alone here.

The trees are breathing.

The water is moving.

The earth is holding you.

And you?

You are still here.

Maybe someday, with enough time, this will become a story.

Maybe even a funny one.

But if you're still in the middle of it, you don't need a lesson.

You don't need a silver lining.

You might just need someone to say:

“Damn. That's hard.”

And then, when you're ready:

“Okay. What do I want?”

That question can be the beginning of the way home.

Interest in learning more about the Celtic Spirit Wheel? Visit: https://www.theriverrunsthrough.com/farmhousestorecoffeeshop/p/8-sacred-directions-using-the-celtic-spirit-wheel