“There is no saint without a past, no sinner without a future.”

-Augustine of Hippo

When I read these words, I think of hope. I remember a time when life was very challenging for me, and for all those who loved and cared about me as well. In my late teens and twenties, I suffered greatly with mental illness. There were times when I became violent, usually against inanimate objects, though there was a period where I would hit my head against the wall. This was the only self-harm I ever engaged in. There were times where I would freeze and stare at the wall blankly and unresponsive to my partner’s pleading. There was a time when I forgot my own name. I was never suicidal, and I am very grateful for this. I chose to have an abortion when I was twenty, because of my meds, and because I was unfit to be a mother. This caused a lot of psychological pain that I endured for many years. During these times, I became alienated from my many friends, and this hurt. There were three times, when I was eighteen, nineteen, and twenty seven, where I was admitted to the psych ward, and once when I was put in a strait jacket and locked in a padded room. Several times I wandered around the neighborhoods of South Seattle, suffering from psychosis and in another world. When I was nineteen or twenty, I was abducted by some men and sexually assaulted. I don’t speak of this very often, but it did happen. I managed to escape and I made it home safely, and I tucked this away deep into my memory because I was suffering with severe symptoms at the time.

All of this is in my past now, and as I gain strength, resilience, and hope in my life, I work through the pain and push past it. This past I endured led to my experiences studying art and painting, writing poetry, my first memoir, a book and this blog I began in 2014, as well as learning massage therapy, teaching children, writing music, and training as a peer counselor. The pain and suffering in my past led me to where I am now, and though not necessarily a saint, I do have strength and wisdom to share, and this brings me to a place of gratitude. I am grateful that I made it through so much, and that I have come out the other side. I have healed, and still engage with Healing Process on a daily basis.

I might rearrange this quote to read, “There is no sinner without a future, and no saint without a past.” First, I was this person, this sinner. I was at one time “in” this past that came before my “sainthood”. This speaks to the hurt part of me that is still living in the past, and reminds me that I have a life ahead of brighter and better days. It implies that the past is actually the present, now, and that I can aspire to sainthood in the future. Either way, this quote, despite its religious undertones, speaks to me deeply. Again, I think of compost, transformation, and becoming new or born again. I am reminded that our past does not define us, but still can serve a purpose. As I shed the layers of who I once was, I carry with me the reminder that I have seen great struggle. I can carry these lessons and this past with me as I connect with others who are also engaged in a healing process. I can learn to let go of all I wish to, as I change and heal my behavior and pain. I can experience the hope I have of living life without pain and suffering. I can heal my addictions, and develop my faith. I am grateful for the craft of writing these essays, because I do have a lot to say about recovery. Because I have been there. I am learning that the past that leads the saint to sainthood, is extremely useful and important.

My family history also paints a picture of survival, healing, and sainthood, particularly on my mother’s side. Back two generations, my grandparents were both abusive alcoholics. Beyond this, my mother also survived getting pregnant at a young age and putting her child up for adoption, followed by a couple abortions in Mexico when it was still illegal in the states. She did all this very much alone and suffered greatly. She then became a wife, mother of two, and a working flight attendant back when the young female stewardesses were required to wear high heals and girdles for many hours on end, and endured their male superiors pinching their sides to make sure they were following the codes. I am so amazed at my mother’s resilience, and incredibly grateful for the love and support she has shown me in my life. She is a beautiful and talented mother and grandmother, and loves and cares for us all today. She cooks, gardens, weaves, sews and knits the most beautiful creations that she shares with the world around her. Steve’s mother too was a survivor. With three young boys she managed to get her PHD’s in philosophy and English, while being a single mother with very little money. She became a Dean of Literature, and taught at Berkeley, University of Iowa and Oxford. I was only able to meet her once when Steve and I were first together, but had much correspondence with her over the phone and through the mail. She supported my writing and loved and accepted me through my mental illness.

Both my mothers, Sheila and Dorothy, are saints in my opinion. The love they were and are able to show others, and the wisdom they achieved, has guided me and nurtured me ten times over. I am so grateful that I feel at peace with my mom and that we are the best of friends, because I know that not everyone gets this. The fourteen years that I knew Dorothy, I was changed by her and proud to call her Mom. There is healing and hope to be found in this world if we know where to look. Struggle and hardship can shape us, but it does not have to break us. The battle scars we bear can become inspiration for those around us, as we pursue connection and healing on our life’s path.