Dance

It seems to be that being able to find purpose for our pain makes it somehow tolerable. Growing pains exist because we are being stretched beyond our physical capabilities. The inner parts of ourselves are forcing us outward and upward and although painful, we wake up the next day and look in the mirror and see growth. My sister Lori has been asked before, "how do you do it?" and she replies, "you just do it; you think you can't but you can." Adversity drops us onto a pathway of hot coals and by reflex, our feet begin to dance.

I guess it's all about perspective that if we let ourselves get stuck in the grief then we won't grow. Grieving is good and healthy. Rolling around in pain, reaching for hot pads, comforting words, reassuring hugs, ice packs and medication is not only appropriate but necessary. Depending on the situation, this grief could play out for years. And maybe, just maybe, the more intense that the pain is, the richer the growth will be when we wake up and look in the mirror. But that's the kicker right there, that at some point we need to wake up, drag our sorry asses to the bathroom and look at ourselves in the mirror.

It's easy to get stuck rolling around in our pain. I did that when I went through my dreadlocks phase, and I'd be a big fat liar if I said that I still don't do it from time to time. In fact, I'm probably doing it right now by writing eight hundred posts about the damn subject. But the difference, and this is what I want to hold onto, is my perspective. When I think about the term "growing pains" I choose to focus on the word "growing" and not "pains." I will feel the pain, ohhhh I will feel it, but I will let my inner parts of myself force me outward and upward so that when I wake up out of the fog and stumble to the bathroom mirror I'll be able to see a stronger Suzy filled to the brim with strength and grace framed by some seriously huge bed head hair.