This past Easter weekend, when at my parents’ home, I took some time to look through a book, detailing the Storrs’ ancestry. As I flipped through its contents reading name after name–some themes began to emerge.
Doctors. Lawyers. Clergy. Yale.
I saw the status that comes with these roles, the “rulers” of society. There was no mention of the land they took, or the indigenous peoples they colonized or killed with their diseases. No longer mentioning their names. With their power, they got to tell the story, and leave out their shadow, what put them in a monstrous light.
I wonder if my ancestors wondered about how their domination would affect their ancestors. Did they even question how their lifestyle, their beliefs and practices was affecting them?
As I flipped through a multi-hundred page book, I didn’t see many healers mentioned. There were a select few who held anti-slavery views and aligned their life with their beliefs.
Richard Salter Storrs, Charles Backus Storrs, George Storrs.
One woman in particular caught my attention: Lucinda Howe Storrs.
She was described as having a rare strength and tenderness, keeping a detailed diary, and attending to the concerns of the soul. Maybe what we would call a mystic today.
I’m glad I know a few names of people in my lineage who had the courage to say, “This isn’t right. We must be in this world in a new way, even though we carry with us this history of oppression. And we must carry our spirituality with us into this work.”
And yet, I have the drivenness and perfectionism and domination in my body of my ancestors. And I have this strong intuitive part of myself that has felt this dissonance, as I have sought to wander my way into the truth.
I wonder if ancestral trauma plays a considerable role in my chronic illness. Because my healing journey isn’t just about me–it’s about the effects on other people because I’m healing. It’s about strongly saying, “The dysfunction stops here. The silence. The lies. The lop-sided incorrect view of history. The ending where white people always win.”
During my breath work practice over the past several months, this strong, yet simple message has come through: “You are here to heal. Healing yourself is also about healing your family line.”
To be honest, I don’t really know what this means. And yet I’m learning that I don’t need to. Showing up to myself, to my practice, to people–this is all I need to know.
As a sensitive person, my body reacts strongly to the changing of the seasons. This has always been true–I’m just now tuning into this. As the warmer weather made known that it was here to stay in Indiana, this message came too: “It’s time to slow down and write.”
It’s time to stop worrying and wondering how all the pieces are going to come together and just live. To be in touch with my longings and desires and live out of these-no matter how that looks each day.
It’s time for me to lean more deeply into natural law and the symbolism of nature. Summer is abundance!
For so many years summer has felt like deprivation. But summer gives greatly. Part of healing is healing my relationship with nature.
So this summer, I am going to receive in abundance.
The sun. The beach. Parks. The flowers. Rest. Naps. Books. Sunsets. Concerts in the park. Sitting by the apartment pool. Getting in the pool and swimming. Friends. Walks. Wine tasting. BBQ.
There is such a strong perfectionism in my DNA, that I must rest.
As I dig into my ancestral roots, I’m discovering deeper purposes for my illness. I needed to wake up to this deeper work. As a highly driven perfectionist, I needed something as severe as my illness to wake me up. To stop and rest. A chance to breathe deeply and learn to come home to myself.
To understand where my impulses come from. To tap back into my deeply spiritual nature that doesn’t need an organization structure to fuel it. To realize that at my essence, I am worthy-and I express this worthiness best in the world by being a healer and a writer.
Instead of just viewing my illness as a curse, and needing to fix it, I’m seeing glimpses of its greater purpose.
And I know deeply in my body that my healing is for myself and for everyone else.
I didn’t use to believe this. I had internalized that my self-care was selfish, that my healing journey was navel-gazing, that it was just another stint of my perfectionism.
I had never before considered that at my core, I am a healer-and in order to be one, I needed to focus on my own. And by engaging this process, I am actually stepping into who I really am.
That this process was quite literally saving my life. Because I was and am coming home to myself.
Surely, many of my ancestors did not want to be doctors, lawyers & clergy. Surely something ached in many of them for something more (although nothing is inherently bad about these professions!). Surely clinging to all that power and ignoring their shadow, wiping out entire peoples & stories, cultures, and rituals, while they “started” a country with “law and order.”
That psychological heaviness is deep. And I’m sure it weighed on generation after generation. And it weighs on me.
Maybe I needed to go through an intense powerlessness of chronic illness to know that in giving up power is where I find life. That in mutual friendships, I find delight. That there’s something mysterious at play. That joy and sadness can co-exist and must for the creativity to surface.
Healing starts with me–in all of my privilege, in all of my pain. I will keep on healing.