Prelude

Reawakening

When we are hurt as children, we can quickly learn to see ourselves as broken, handicapped, or defective in some essential way. As we remember with excruciating precision the violations and injustices that devastated our tender hearts, we come to view our childhood as a terrible, painful mistake. At times, the enormity of our childhood sorrow can fill us with a sense of hopelessness, disappointment, and despair.

For the past eighteen years, in family therapy agencies, hospitals, schools, prisons, churches, and private practice, I have worked exclusively with adults who grew up in troubled families. As a therapist and minister, I have been privileged to witness the tremendous courage of women and men—rich and poor, black and white, Hispanic and native American, gay and straight—who sought to heal the painful residue of their childhood suffering. Even as they struggled to be free, the reverberations of family sorrow continued to infect their adult lives, their loves, even their dreams.

Yet, at the same time I have also noted that adults who were hurt as children inevitably exhibit a peculiar strength, a profound inner wisdom, and a remarkable creativity and insight. Deep within them—just beneath the wound—lies a profound spiritual vitality, a quiet knowing, a way of perceiving what is beautiful, right, and true. Since their early experiences were so dark and painful, they have spent much of their lives in search of the gentleness, love, and peace they have only imagined in the privacy of their own hearts.

A painful childhood invariably focuses our attention on the inner life. In response to childhood hurt, we learn to cultivate a heightened awareness, and sharpen our capacity to discern how things move and change in our environment. Childhood pain encourages us to watch things more closely, to listen more carefully, to attend to the subtle imbalances that arise within and around us. We develop an exquisite ability to feel the feelings of others, and we become exceptionally mindful of every conflict, every flicker of hope or despair, every piece of information that may hold some teaching for us. Thus, family pain broke us open and set our hearts on a pilgrimage in search of the love and belonging, safety and abundance, joy and peace that were missing from our childhood story. Seen through this lens, family sorrow is not only a painful wound to be endured, analyzed, and treated. It may in fact become a seed that gives birth to our spiritual healing and awakening.

Beginning the Practice

I realize that it requires a tremendous leap of faith to imagine that your own childhood—punctuated with pain, loss, and hurt—may, in fact, be a gift. Certainly the unhappiness you felt was not, in itself, a blessing; but in response to that pain, you learned to cultivate a powerful intuition, a heightened sensitivity, and a passionate devotion to healing and love that burns deep within you. These are gifts that may be recognized, honored, and cultivated.

You are not broken; childhood suffering is not a mortal wound, and it did not irrevocably shape your destiny. You need not remove, destroy, or tear anything out of yourself in order to build something new. Your challenge is not to keep trying to repair what was damaged; your practice instead is to reawaken what is already wise, strong, and whole within you, to cultivate those qualities of heart and spirit that are available to you in this very moment.

Your life is not a problem to be solved but a gift to be opened. Just as the pain, hurt, and suffering that came to you as a child were powerfully real, so is the tangible resilience of your spirit equally vital and alive. This book will help you reawaken that inner strength and discover a reliable sense of safety, belonging, and peace.

In this book I outline twelve distinct manifestations of childhood sorrow: lingering wounds that express themselves as points of tension between our emotional history and our spiritual unfolding. Each chapter begins by examining the shape of a particular childhood wound, and reveals how the scar from that wound affects our emotional and spiritual life. We then gently observe, explore, and massage those places where we feel caught, where we are ready to grow, and where we ache to be free. And finally we listen as the spiritual teachers of the world describe these same points of tension as doorways of the spirit, doorways that may lead us into deep healing and liberation.

The spiritual search you inherited as a child of family pain is at once a profoundly confusing, exciting, and intimate dialogue with your heart and spirit. Indeed, the persistent questions that occupy the heart of the wounded child are invariably the same questions pondered by the saints, seekers, and spiritual teachers of the world: Why must we have pain? Where do we belong? What is most important in our lives? How can we recognize what is beautiful and true? How may we be joyful? How do we learn to love?

As children, these questions were difficult for us to ask and impossible for us to answer. Isolated and alone within ourselves, we were wary and confused about trusting anyone to help us wrestle with the infinite complexities of being human. Now, as we grow older, we feel a surging readiness to be healed. Perhaps we may now allow these same questions to become the seeds of our reawakening.

You may use these spiritual teachings to cultivate the healing that is already present within you. You can explore those practices that directly correspond to your childhood wounds, and use them to uncover and reawaken the resources you have within you to heal and to grow. Finally, you will be able to investigate your childhood pain in the context of the larger human family, allowing your past to place you in compassionate kinship with others who suffer loss, injury, grief, or injustice.

As you move through this book, you may begin to reawaken your natural energy, curiosity, and wonder, rediscovering a place within yourself where you are strong, clear, and whole. Some name this place soul, or spirit. Some call it our inner light, which softens the darkness in our hearts. Others call it the Divine, or the Beloved; still others describe it as our true nature, or our Buddha nature. Many of us simply name it God.

Throughout the book I have included teachings from Christian, Buddhist, Hebrew, Sufi, Hindu, and native American traditions. I have also included writers and thinkers from our contemporary culture who speak of the heart and spirit with some precision. These saints and guides are not the answer to our quest—they simply indicate the path, like a finger pointing to the moon. They help our eyes to see and show us where to look.

Take your time; be patient with yourself as you read this book. The scars of childhood cast long shadows deep in the heart, and are not readily let go of. All healing requires gentleness, attention, and care. But keep in mind that you need not repair, reconstruct, or remake yourself into someone else. Your practice is simply to reawaken what is already wise and strong, to claim what is deep and true within you, to rediscover your own intuition, to find your inner balance, and to reaffirm your intrinsic wholeness in the eyes of God.

Everything you will ever need may be found within your own body, heart, and spirit. Your most difficult task is to believe in yourself. Using the practices, exercises, and meditations at the end of each chapter, perhaps you will learn to reawaken that trust in your own wisdom, courage, and creativity.

We do this work in the name of love—love for ourselves, love for our family and friends, love for all the children of the earth who have suffered. As the capacity to love expands within you, your love, kindness, and generosity become more available for others—and the family of the earth is in desperate need of your love, your care, and your participation in the growth and healing of us all. This book is an invitation to heal, to reawaken the spirit of life within you, to fulfill the dreams of your deepest heart, and to claim your place of belonging in the human family as a courageous and loving member.