Quotes About Healing

I think that everything that happens to you stays in you, even if it stays in a part of your mind where you can't find it. That's why you should never try to forget when people urge you to.

some psychiatrists believe that exercise (aerobic or anaerobic) can be as effective in healing depression as psychotherapy or antidepressant drugs.14

recuperative and commemorative work.

The point of telling our stories, even if only to ourselves, is to help us resurrect the parts we have buried. When we unearth them, even if it's difficult, we can integrate them into our sense of who we are. Often in our buried self our true power lies.

My deepest wounds and greatest strengths lie in my ability to see the potential for relationship in my life.

The history of women has been the history of a destructive kind of suffering, and I do not suggest moving further into that experience. My point is that walking away from pain altogether is equally as destructive. The debilitating suffering come when we do not allow ourselves to feel and work through our pain. Facing pain honestly and surviving gives us strength.

An astute observer might suggest that my emphasis on connection probably comes from experience of its opposite. And that's true. I know what it's like to feel disconnected, on the outside, estranged, not only from other people, but also from myself. I spent many years trying to reassemble the fragments of my divided self and reconnect them.

Every childhood is a dismantling of wholeness, and every adulthood is a process of putting the pieces together again.

When we work through our own grief, we can cut to the heart of the common universal experience, which opens us to feel for others.

We need not the king's horses and men but do need each other to put ourselves back together again.

When you are broken, you run. But you don't always run away. Sometimes, helplessly, you run towards.

It happens to everyone. But you feel it alone. Shocking loss isn't to be shared, no matter how hard you try.

What happens to the mind after bereavement makes no sense until later... what the mind does after losing one's father isn't just to pick new fathers from the world, but pick new selves to love them with.

What happens to the mind after bereavement makes no sense until later. Even as I watched I'd half-realised Prideaux was a figure I'd picked out for a father. But what I should have realised, too, on those northern roads, is that what the mind does after losing one's father isn't just to pick new fathers from the world, but pick new selves to love them with.

Sometimes a reckoning comes of all the lives we have lost, and sometimes we take it upon ourselves to burn them to ashes.

what I should have realised, too, on those northern roads, is that what the mind does after losing one's father isn't just to pick new fathers from the world, but pick new selves to love them with.

ran into my old room, sat on the little bed and hugged my knees, pain worming around inside my chest like a thing with a million tiny teeth and claws.

When you are broken, you run. But you don't always run away. Sometimes, helplessly, you run towards. My reasons weren't White's, but I was running just the same.

Collecting things like this, I realised, must have stitched together their broken world of rubble, made sense of a world disordered by war. And

There was nothing that was such a salve to my grieving heart as the hawk returning.

P)ulling at your heart on purpose is a compulsion as particular and disconcerting as pressing on a healing bruise.

Melanie Klein wrote that children go through states of mind comparable to mourning, and that this early mourning is revived when grief is experience in later life.

Concentrate on why you're here, I tell myself. You have a hawk to fly. Ever since my father died I'd had these bouts of derealisation, strange episodes where the world became unrecognisable.

And for the first time I understood the shape of my grief. I could feel exactly how big it was. It was the strangest feeling, like holding something the size of a mountain in my arms.