All life happens between an inhale and an exhale…
Admittedly, I did not come up with that quote. I found it printed on the inside of a chocolate wrapper at a SW:S retreat. I saved the wrapper, thinking I’d add it to my journal, but months later, I found it at the bottom of my bag, begging to be reread. Seeing the quote again got me thinking about how many participants needed to take a deep breath before stepping through the doors to a retreat. How many have felt numb inside but still held on to a sliver of hope? How many people could live happier lives if they knew it’s as simple as breathing in and expressing ourselves on the exhale?
My first breath didn’t start out as planned. After a strenuous delivery, I presented with a zero apgar reading for almost eight minutes, which really just translates to I didn’t show signs of being alive for much longer than is considered healthy. My mom recalls she was so exhausted that it took a while to notice the look of concern on the medical staff’s faces or how her family was frozen in fear. Most noticeable was the silence in the room; no one was sure how to help. The silence was broken when a support team entered and began working with me despite what my vitals implied, they would at least try to bring my first breath to the surface. Despair weighed down on the room as the minutes ticked by until they heard a faint cry and then, all at once, the belting of cries. My mom has always described that moment as pure bliss; the whole room shifted in one breath and had hope.
I often see a similar sequence of events experienced by many veterans we meet. Their bravery and unmatched determination allowed them to push through their various deployments, but time in these strenuous environments required a never-ending flight-or-fight response. They survived by numbing their feelings and disconnecting their minds and bodies from the world around them; some didn’t show signs of being alive for years on end. Many vets have revealed that in their departure from themselves, they also disconnected from their spouses, children, and friends and lacked awareness of the concern their loved ones exhibited. At one retreat I attended, a vet expressed he had learned how to handle the pain of war with ease, but facing his family and life falling apart was too painful; he volunteered to deploy again so he could stay numb. The room grew silent as the whole group processed their own experiences. Our retreat facilitator asked, “Has anyone else felt that way?” One by one, each vet in the room began to reveal similar stories of how they chose to disconnect from life by drinking, drugs, eating disorders, and/or pushing everyone they loved away. One vet said he no longer felt “alive inside,” and the rest of the room nodded in agreement. Our facilitator then pressed on and asked, “Has anyone ever talked about, journaled, or possibly sung to help express what you felt during these times?” Again silence fell over the room, only this time, no one had anything more to say; the answer was simply no. We began to realize numbing had become their only way of life, which is no life at all.
Despite what our participants think about themselves or what they have been told, we know they have a whole lifetime of stories and feelings hidden within them. They are indeed alive inside; they just need support to bring it forth once again. If the participants wanted to stay numb to the world, they wouldn’t have attended a retreat; they have hope, and so do we! We collaborate with participants to support the uncovering and releasing of their cries. As participants begin to voice stories that often have never been heard before we add melody, we help merge beauty into the pain. Life is reigned somewhere between the inhale and the exhale of hearing their cries played back to them in song. The grief the whole room was previously carrying shifts to joy, peace, and, best of all hope. In our first moments as humans, it’s our primal instinct to breathe in and exhale, “I’m here! Hear my needs and wants; I feel things because I am alive.” We support people in returning to the most natural thing they know how to do, expressing themselves.
A Work Of Art
Denise Coffee Barger / Ruthie Goodboe / Christy Hoke / Katie / Jay Clementi / JD Martin / Georgia Middleman
I know I can’t change it
And I know I can’t fix it
I’m gonna build a bridge or maybe tear one down
But I’m learning how to walk it
And don’t tell me how to talk it
Cause this heart of mine is solid sacred ground
Don’t wanna leave the past behind
Cause it made us who we are
The beauty’s in the broken spaces
We’re stronger in the mended places
Turning all that pain into a work of art
There’s a well worn path before me
My sisters forged it for me
I’m in a club I didn’t wanna join
Their sacrifice is sanctified
By the thousand lonely tears I’ve cried
Am I’m here by fate or just the flip of a coin
Don’t wanna leave the past behind
Cause it made us who we are
The beauty’s in the broken spaces
We’re stronger in the mended places
Turning all that pain into a work of art
Bridge:
I can do this…breathe
I can do this…breathe
Don’t wanna leave the past behind
Cause it made us who we are
The beauty’s in the broken spaces
We’re stronger in the mended places
Turning all that pain into a work of art
I can do this…breathe
I can do this…breathe
©2023 SongwritingWith:Soldiers Music (ASCAP) / Sony ATV Cross Keys (ASCAP) / Gill ’n’ Goldie Music (ASCAP) / Middle Girl Music (ASCAP)