Tuesday, August 29, 2006 at 1:01am
The healing power of hate. Huh?!
Column: Writing Down Your Soul
In her "Spiritual Geography" series, Janet Conner walks beside the broken hearted, teaching them how to locate their position on the map of spiritual healing and unlock the personal divine guidance that will move them from where they are to where they want to be — Peace. Everyone begins in the Country of Betrayal and travels through the Countries of Pain, War, Illusion, Surrender, and Choice, accomplishing a spiritual task and receiving a spiritual gift in each country. The journey culminates in the Country of Peace with the miracle of forgiveness and the receipt of a healed, whole, and holy heart. Today, we continue our exploration of the Country of Pain.
When I told my husband I wanted a divorce, he changed. This man, who I couldn't drag into a church, started going, not once, but three times a week. And he, who would rather poke himself in the eye than go to therapy, started seeing a therapist, not once a month or twice a month, but twice a week! Well, it was a few years too late to save the marriage, I thought, but finally he's asking for help.
One day, my husband begged me to meet his therapist. I thought it was an odd request, but I went, thinking it would be helpful if the therapist understood what my son and I were going through. After a few joint visits, the therapist asked to see me alone.
I sat down in his blue chair and he asked how I was — not exactly a loaded question. But there was a period during the divorce when the standard greeting, "How are you?" would send me into convulsions of tears.
Maybe it was his kind voice or warm open eyes, but I opened my mouth and out popped, "I hate him," and then a few seconds later, "I hate him." Unbidden, like burps after guzzling carbonated water, a steady stream of "I hate him" came bubbling up. No matter the question, there seemed to be only one response, "I hate him." It began to be funny. He smiled. I giggled, "I hate him," I said. I said it laughing. I said it crying.
At the end of the session he asked if there was anything I wanted to add. Well, don't you know there was. "I hate him," I said.
"I know," he said.
That evening my sister Claire called. She asked how I was. That question again! I knew what to expect, but out came a surprise. "I hate him in the morning and I hate him at night." She tried to change the subject. "I hate him," I said. "My hair hates him. My eyebrows hate him." We started to laugh. So much hate it oozes out my hair follicles! How delicious.
The moment we hung up, I ran to my journal and poured out my hate. It gushed all over the page. I didn't pause. I didn't think. I couldn't move my hand fast enough. "I hate him. I hate him. I hate him." Never have I enjoyed writing a prayer so much. It felt like vomiting — not a pretty metaphor — but consider the lovely empty feeling when your body has finally expelled all the poison. I felt like that when I finished writing: exhausted, sweaty, stinky, but purged — empty, clean.
The prayer came out in one great glob and I assumed it was finished, but as I was falling asleep, a whole new stream of "I hate him" thoughts burst to the surface. I jumped out of bed to record them. In the middle of the night, I was awakened by another hate wave. The next morning the last hate thoughts tumbled out.
I struggled with sharing this prayer. I struggled with even calling it a prayer. A prayer of hate? There are lots of religious and spiritual folks who do not consider hate appropriate content for prayer. Forgiveness, yes. Letting go, yes. Releasing hate, yes. But wallowing in hate? Reveling in it? Nope, can't find a lot of lot of precedents for hate prayers.
My brother, Larry, who is a profoundly spiritual man and a superb therapist, helped me make peace with my hate prayer. First, he loved it. He congratulated me for writing it. He laughed at the funny parts and cried at the sad parts. He said it was perfect. Second, he honored my hate. When I said, "I know I need to forgive," he pushed me right back to my hate work, reminding me that I had a right to be there, it was good to be there.
Forgiveness would come, he said, but not till I was ready.
Larry was one of only a few people willing to hear my hate. He validated my feelings, honored them, unconditionally accepted them. He lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. With his support I was able to say: Yes, these feelings are real. These feelings are true. These feelings are even good. Hate, I realized, is a part of the process — a healthy part.
If you're feeling hate, writing a prayer about it can help heal it. But for most people, writing about hate is uncomfortable — especially women. Growing up, girls are not given permission to connect with their hate, feel it, name it, and least of all, spit it out.
Take a deep breath and just start writing — fast: "Dear God, I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him." (or "Dear God, I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her.")
Write "I hate him" ten times. If the feeling is true for you, it will take over. Pictures will burst into your mind. Pain will explode inside your heart. Violations will pour out of your hand. Absurd expressions of hate will spout out of your pen. Let it be stupid. Let it be ridiculous. Let it be nasty. No one is going to see this but you and God. And guess what: God already knows! You might as well know, too.
If transgressions don't flood to the surface and hate feelings don't overwhelm, be grateful — grateful that you don't have a hate gate protecting a hate place. But if you do, open it. Open it wide, and let the poison flood out onto paper. Paper is a far better place for your hate than your precious cells.
As the prayer winds down, ask God what to do with your hate. Ask and you will be lead to your right action. Trust in this: When you are ready, God will show you how to heal your hating heart.
Next week: The end of Pain
— — —
Janet Conner, S.E. (Spiritual Explorer), is the cartographer of the map of Spiritual Geography and author of the Spiritual Geography series. Visit Spiritual Geography for interactive maps, locators, and other Spiritual Geography materials. Reach Janet at {email janetconner@tampabay.rr.com}janetconner@tampabay.rr.com{/email}. © copyright 2006 by Janet Conner
— — —
ReligionAndSpirituality.com is a big tent for all expressions
of faith and spirituality, neither excluding nor favoring any.
All opinions expressed belong to the writer alone, and are
not necessarily shared by ReligionAndSpirituality.com.
When I told my husband I wanted a divorce, he changed. This man, who I couldn't drag into a church, started going, not once, but three times a week. And he, who would rather poke himself in the eye than go to therapy, started seeing a therapist, not once a month or twice a month, but twice a week! Well, it was a few years too late to save the marriage, I thought, but finally he's asking for help.
One day, my husband begged me to meet his therapist. I thought it was an odd request, but I went, thinking it would be helpful if the therapist understood what my son and I were going through. After a few joint visits, the therapist asked to see me alone.
I sat down in his blue chair and he asked how I was — not exactly a loaded question. But there was a period during the divorce when the standard greeting, "How are you?" would send me into convulsions of tears.
Maybe it was his kind voice or warm open eyes, but I opened my mouth and out popped, "I hate him," and then a few seconds later, "I hate him." Unbidden, like burps after guzzling carbonated water, a steady stream of "I hate him" came bubbling up. No matter the question, there seemed to be only one response, "I hate him." It began to be funny. He smiled. I giggled, "I hate him," I said. I said it laughing. I said it crying.
At the end of the session he asked if there was anything I wanted to add. Well, don't you know there was. "I hate him," I said.
"I know," he said.
That evening my sister Claire called. She asked how I was. That question again! I knew what to expect, but out came a surprise. "I hate him in the morning and I hate him at night." She tried to change the subject. "I hate him," I said. "My hair hates him. My eyebrows hate him." We started to laugh. So much hate it oozes out my hair follicles! How delicious.
The moment we hung up, I ran to my journal and poured out my hate. It gushed all over the page. I didn't pause. I didn't think. I couldn't move my hand fast enough. "I hate him. I hate him. I hate him." Never have I enjoyed writing a prayer so much. It felt like vomiting — not a pretty metaphor — but consider the lovely empty feeling when your body has finally expelled all the poison. I felt like that when I finished writing: exhausted, sweaty, stinky, but purged — empty, clean.
The prayer came out in one great glob and I assumed it was finished, but as I was falling asleep, a whole new stream of "I hate him" thoughts burst to the surface. I jumped out of bed to record them. In the middle of the night, I was awakened by another hate wave. The next morning the last hate thoughts tumbled out.
I struggled with sharing this prayer. I struggled with even calling it a prayer. A prayer of hate? There are lots of religious and spiritual folks who do not consider hate appropriate content for prayer. Forgiveness, yes. Letting go, yes. Releasing hate, yes. But wallowing in hate? Reveling in it? Nope, can't find a lot of lot of precedents for hate prayers.
My brother, Larry, who is a profoundly spiritual man and a superb therapist, helped me make peace with my hate prayer. First, he loved it. He congratulated me for writing it. He laughed at the funny parts and cried at the sad parts. He said it was perfect. Second, he honored my hate. When I said, "I know I need to forgive," he pushed me right back to my hate work, reminding me that I had a right to be there, it was good to be there.
Forgiveness would come, he said, but not till I was ready.
Larry was one of only a few people willing to hear my hate. He validated my feelings, honored them, unconditionally accepted them. He lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. With his support I was able to say: Yes, these feelings are real. These feelings are true. These feelings are even good. Hate, I realized, is a part of the process — a healthy part.
If you're feeling hate, writing a prayer about it can help heal it. But for most people, writing about hate is uncomfortable — especially women. Growing up, girls are not given permission to connect with their hate, feel it, name it, and least of all, spit it out.
Take a deep breath and just start writing — fast: "Dear God, I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him." (or "Dear God, I hate her. I hate her. I hate her. I hate her.")
Write "I hate him" ten times. If the feeling is true for you, it will take over. Pictures will burst into your mind. Pain will explode inside your heart. Violations will pour out of your hand. Absurd expressions of hate will spout out of your pen. Let it be stupid. Let it be ridiculous. Let it be nasty. No one is going to see this but you and God. And guess what: God already knows! You might as well know, too.
If transgressions don't flood to the surface and hate feelings don't overwhelm, be grateful — grateful that you don't have a hate gate protecting a hate place. But if you do, open it. Open it wide, and let the poison flood out onto paper. Paper is a far better place for your hate than your precious cells.
As the prayer winds down, ask God what to do with your hate. Ask and you will be lead to your right action. Trust in this: When you are ready, God will show you how to heal your hating heart.
Next week: The end of Pain
— — —
Janet Conner, S.E. (Spiritual Explorer), is the cartographer of the map of Spiritual Geography and author of the Spiritual Geography series. Visit Spiritual Geography for interactive maps, locators, and other Spiritual Geography materials. Reach Janet at {email janetconner@tampabay.rr.com}janetconner@tampabay.rr.com{/email}. © copyright 2006 by Janet Conner
ReligionAndSpirituality.com is a big tent for all expressions
of faith and spirituality, neither excluding nor favoring any.
All opinions expressed belong to the writer alone, and are
not necessarily shared by ReligionAndSpirituality.com.