The service this morning was supposed to be a service of healing after the collective trauma of the past 15 months. I attend a very progressive church and the pastor and pastoral intern led a very powerful service, but I am not sure it was healing per se. The children’s sermon was great, they had the kids fold up little paper hearts—one fold for each thing that happened in the past year that made their heart sad or scared or worried or lonely. Then they said things that helped their hearts heal and the kids unfolded their hearts. They even talked about how their hearts weren’t quite the same as they were before the pandemic, now they have folds in them that will take time to heal. It was very beautiful. Then the kids were sent to Sunday school.
Once it was just the adults, they read a picture book that was definitely an intense read. It was an ecumenical Christian book about healing from trauma, but honestly it was too much for me this morning. I don’t remember much of it but I remember hearing something about #Selfharm and my heart broke, that Jesus, who took suffering upon Himself to heal the world, had to feel that kind of pain. It made me so sad. The book kept going after that but I got up and walked away. My sister followed me. I was dissociating I guess because she kept asking me what her name was and what my name was and where we were and what color the sky and trees were and telling me to look at her, and I didn’t recognize her at all. I should mention that she’s a nonbiological sister who I met ~2 years ago, and some of my parts are too young to know her so that’s how I know I was dissociating, also I couldn’t remember my name. She told me to look at her and I said “I’m sorry but I don’t recognize you.” I am trying to figure out what the deal is with all my parts because I don’t lose time and my parts are all “me” just different ages and developmental stages. Anyway I don’t remember the rest of the service except there was Communion after she and my “safe” Dad got me to go back, and my Pastor (female) anointed us with lavender scented oil, and my Pastor must’ve seen me leave and come back and figured out why because she took extra time with me and gave me a huge hug and kissed me on the head and told me that she loves me. She also gave me a copy of the book and specifically told me she wants me to read the end. She has been a huge support person for me for the 7 years she’s been my Pastor and I love her a lot and respect her. She was the first person to ever tell me (years ago) she would never give up on me and she still hasn’t. So I trust her as much as I am capable of trusting any human, and I will finish reading the book. She is no stranger to trauma herself and she knows me better than most people, other than my chosen family. I guess I am on slightly better terms with God today because God gave me my “safe” parents, my sister, my beautiful niece and nephew, my Pastor, and a whole community.