People often go “deer-in-the-headlights” whenever the topic of spirituality is brought up. Either they think they are going to hear some New Age “fluff,” or they think it is just not part of their own experience and ability to understand. Neither could be further from the truth. This series will focus on what I have learned about the interconnection of mind, body, and spirit from some of my own challenges with mental health issues, as well as those of people I have worked with as a psycho-spiritual therapist, Reiki practitioner, spiritual companion, and Constellation facilitator over the last 30 years. I will also include spiritual practices that have helped me stay in balance to attain an optimum sense of well-being—to me, the true indicator of mental and physical health.

Episodes of Vertigo

For about fifteen years, I suffered from periodic episodes of Vertigo. The first experience of this balancing issue was the day I brought my second child home from the hospital. I was 21, my first child was 17 months old, and I was about to begin my last semester of college for which I had a full scholarship. My marriage was difficult and insecure at best, and I lived far from family and friends. At the time, there was no treatment except for rest and anti-nausea medication. The dizziness passed in a few days, so I forgot about it and went back to the juggling act that was my life.

Fast-forward 15 years with numerous episodes of disabling dizziness. One episode included my having to call a colleague to pick me up on the side of a road because I couldn’t drive my car. I spent numerous days in bed over the years, missing family holidays. I began to dread vacations; that was when I would get hit the hardest with the Vertigo.

The last time I had it, I woke up with that strange sensation that told me not to move too fast, only this time, I couldn’t even move my eyes from one side of my eye sockets to the other. Here we go again, I thought.

This time, even the light on my nightstand sent waves of nausea through me. My youngest daughter’s calling for me from her crib made me cringe as the room began to spin around my immobile frame.

This episode hung on for two weeks. I couldn’t eat or drink without spasms of nausea. Light and sound were intolerable, so I lay in the dark, alone. I lost 10 lbs. that I couldn’t afford to lose.

As the days passed from the first week to the next, I started to despair. The doctor said to just ride it out. While I lay in bed in what felt like a dark prison, feeling and looking like a forgotten corpse, my mind stayed on high alert waiting for the first sign that this episode was ready to pass.

It didn’t.

At the end of my second week alone in bed, I finally began asking some important questions: Why did I repeatedly have this particular symptom? Why wasn’t it passing like the dozens of other times? What was I doing to deserve this suffering? What was going to happen to my children, especially the baby who wanted her Mommy, my teenage kids, my marriage, or my multiple work responsibilities?

“I was running around trying to be all things to all people with no boundaries about what responsibilities belonged to me and what belonged to others.”

Surrender

In desperation, I finally surrendered.

“O God, help me.”

The answer came swiftly and with a clarity that was unmistakable. It was not a voice from the heavens, but more like an awareness that woke me up. It was if someone pulled open the mystery door from a wise, deep place within me.

“You are making yourself dizzy.”

It was as if the light, both literally and figuratively, came on. I WAS making myself dizzy! My life came into view as if in a video:

Worry about being present for my youngest children, worry for my son in college, worry for my daughter who was starting to think about college, worry for my mother who seemed to be on the brink of yet another depression, worry that my father would explode without apparent provocation, worry that my husband would be overwhelmed with the responsibilities of our complicated family life and give up, worry about the undeniable but unexpressed demands of my in-laws to spend more time with them, worry about work and juggling the kids’ needs and work needs…

The list was endless. No wonder I had Vertigo. I was running around trying to be all things to all people with no boundaries about what responsibilities belonged to me and what belonged to others. If someone appeared unhappy or dissatisfied, I would start to feel anxious. I would try to hide it, and that made me look disinterested or disconnected, but inside I was a wreck. I could not say “no” to anyone but myself. Only when I was totally alone and nobody was looking for me could I relax—and those moments were few and far between because then, my old companion “Guilt” would come and spoil my solitude! No wonder I got sick mostly during vacation times.

Lessons Learned

That episode was my last incident of Vertigo. Gradually, I began to unravel the secret message of this symptom that literally stopped me in my tracks: I needed to let go of my need to Please, my tendency to think that I had to keep everyone happy—Perform—and the death grip on my false belief that I needed to be Perfect.

My awakening to the connection between my unique physical alarm system and the wreckage of my emotional life was complete. I could no longer deny my needs—which I always thought were a sign of moral weakness and selfishness. The fear of a recurring symptom like Vertigo was so compelling that it over-rode my lifelong conditioning to be co-dependent. That fear became my gateway to recovery practices that last to this day.

In spiritual terms, my symptoms forced me into an experience of what is commonly known as “liminal space”[1]. It is that time when none of our old ways of being work, so we are forced to change. But change is the last thing most of us want, so we usually need something very challenging—the death of someone we love, the loss of a job, a serious marital crisis or illness—to give us the push to enter that space of unknowing.

It feels dark and often terrifying. Yet, it is also that spacious time that allows us to really listen to the yearnings of our soul. In doing so, suffering can take on new meaning and can be transformed into wisdom. It is slow and quiet and leads us to feel our deep need for care and connection.

Having the benefit of 30 years of recovery, I can now see that my physical symptoms were the only way I could give myself permission to take the time to look more deeply at the big questions: “Who am I?” “Why am I here?” “What do I feel called to do with my life?” “How well am I doing?”

Making Meaning of Suffering

This experience also gave me pause to ponder the purpose of Suffering. Suffering is often seen as a punishment from or abandonment by God. It is easy to understand why some people think of it this way, especially when it involves innocents. “Why would God allow a child to have cancer?” is an oft-heard question from even the most faith-filled person.

Certainly, our modern times can feel like we are on our own when we look at the devastation of our political life, or our environment, or of wars throughout the world. I don’t have answers to these inscrutable questions. Just as it is said that “Darkness is the absence of Light,” my thoughts run more to how it is the absence of the “Light” of my faith that accounts for the “Darkness” of evil in the world—a subject for another day!

When I think about personal suffering, I have a more nuanced view. From my personal experience and from working with hundreds of people over the last 35 years, it seems to me that Suffering—like what I experienced with Vertigo—may be one of the most efficient ways to break open our hearts to something bigger than self. But, of course, it doesn’t feel that way when you are going through it.

I’ve come to realize that when I am doing well, I start to believe that I am invincible and forget that I am just one part of a much bigger story. I have my role to play, but when I’m feeling too successful, there is the temptation to believe that I don’t need anyone or anything else.

A certain quiet arrogance sets in: “I can do it myself, thank you!” I go about my day with the illusion or delusion that I am in charge, in control. I‘m embarrassed to admit that I have been even accused of being overbearing at times! I was so blind that I just thought I was being the responsible one when in reality, I just couldn’t relax like everyone else.

Healing vs. Symptom Removal

With clients, my tendency was to try to make them feel better as quickly as possible. Certainly, that is the hope of anyone who forces themselves to come to therapy. Parents, in particular, suffer terribly with their sense of powerlessness when one of their children is in the grips of addiction or some other self-destructive behavior. What I have learned, however, is that if our main goal is symptom removal, and we move too quickly without understanding and addressing the deeper issues, there can be an escalation of the severity of the symptoms.

One of my many clients comes to mind: A six-year-old son of a single parent who began having unprovoked tantrums in the classroom. If someone came too close to him in school, he started a fight; if the teacher gave him a directive, he pushed her away or upturned his desk. No amount of negative consequences, talks, or time outs helped him. Even the principal got involved as a resource for “Albert”[a].

Then one day, he finally revealed the pain in his heart when he asked his mom why his Dad didn’t want him— his Dad had never tried to reach out or have a relationship with him. He knew nothing about whom his Dad was or where he lived. His mother was shocked. She thought by not talking about her son’s father, she was protecting him.

Nothing could have been further from the truth. Holding his secret fears inside created a volcano of emotions that eventually erupted when anyone tried to get close to him. He had no words to explain why. He just escalated with each attempt to control his behavior.

In one of our sessions together, I asked Albert what he knew about his Dad. He sheepishly answered that he didn’t know who he was. “Why do you think that is?” I ventured. He hesitated a moment, and then whispered with tears in his eyes, “Because he didn’t want me.”

That was the beginning of our work together with his Mother—to learn who his father was and why he wasn’t in Albert’s life. He learned that lots of kids in his class were living with only one parent and that it had to do with the parent, not because the child was unlovable. Little by little, Albert began to let go of his false belief that he was unworthy of love, and began to accept the support of the adults in his life. He made friends with some of the other kids who went to the invaluable lunchtime program for kids with single parents called “Banana Splits,” who, he reported were “just like me.”

Another devastating situation I experienced had to do with a young woman, “Mary.” She had been experimenting with drugs for a few years by the time I met her. She was angry and combative, which led her parents to see her as a “problem” that had to be contained. She, too, pushed everyone away except for the “questionable" guys she picked up when out with friends getting high.

As a teenager, she often broke curfew and got grounded. Then, she snuck out of the house at night and eventually was arrested for possession of pills. Her parents were furious with her and forbade her to communicate with any of her friends who they saw as a bad influence on her. Then she ran away and wound up using her body to get money. The story got worse and worse until she finally overdosed at age 20 and wound up in the hospital.

There, it was finally revealed that she had been molested by a respected family member when she was 13. The offender had told her no one would believe her if she told. She had tried telling her mother that she was not comfortable with this person, and her mother had missed the message behind her timid attempt at telling. It took Mary’s increasingly dangerous and self-destructive behavior to finally convince the adults in her life that her “acting out” was a cry for help and a need for understanding and for protection.

“Only with Forgiveness could I begin to look at my own failings and start to change my behavior.”

Communication from the Soul/Awakening

Think of every behavior and physical symptom is a communication from the soul that something is wrong, or out of balance. Punishment and humiliation by others, self-judgment and withdrawal and acting out cannot heal the original wound. Only seeing and acknowledging what is, honoring the person’s spiritual and emotional suffering, and substituting compassion for the shame and blame one feels, can we have the courage to look at our part in the creation of our problems.

As someone I love recently confided, “Only with Forgiveness could I begin to look at my own failings and start to change my behavior.” Guilt has a place, but only if it leads to more positive action and a change of heart. Otherwise it, too, can be a distraction.

Closing Thoughts

When I had my awakening about the message behind the symptom of Vertigo, I was given an opportunity to glimpse the patterns in my life that had led me to get sick: Holding on to over-responsibility; shame; unrealistic personal expectations; being comfortable with giving but not receiving; an inability to say no to anyone or to hold anyone accountable for others’ hurtful or irresponsible behavior; and a misguided sense of pride that made it almost impossible to admit my need for help or to ask anyone for help. These were just a few on the laundry list of unhealthy beliefs and attitudes that nearly destroyed me and my family.

Buddhism reminds us of one of the Four Noble Truths: Life is painful. It is our holding on to our desire for it to be different, however, that creates true Suffering[2]. With this way of thinking, I came to see that it wasn’t Vertigo that was my primary problem. It was the thought that I shouldn’t have it or be so disabled by it that created my Suffering. My soul knew what I needed and used the most efficient method of helping me figure it out.

I am grateful for the grace that led me to finally listen and begin to move onto a new path that included respecting the language of my body to heal my soul’s need for balance in my life and in my relationships with myself, God and everyone else—even if it did take 15 years!

Have you had similar experiences of being “awakened” because of physical symptoms, tragedy or loss? Do you think pain is the only way to begin to listen to the yearnings of our soul? What has helped you move in a more positive, healthy direction?

Share your comments at the bottom of the page.

Lessons From the Journey