The post was controversial in the eyes of some, certainly, but what was actually being said was not what got to me. No, I actually agreed with what was being said, when it got down to it. It was not even the tone, really, which was similar to that of righteous anger that built up as it went on. It was actually a powerful post, full of passion and reason, but something about it just…made me feel upset.
It took me a few days to realize that what bothered me about this post was neither the content nor its delivery. No. What got to me was what I saw, or perhaps felt, beneath: the hurt and pain and brokenness. And it broke something inside of me. It brought me a deep sadness inside that couldn’t be fixed by just a few words, via an internet connection.
No, this broke me. I often feel broken when on social media, seeing the posts and comments that, while on the surface are full of judgment, hate, righteous anger and passion, essentially are made of the same base ingredient: hurt. We have all been hurt in some way or another, and we all long for the same thing: healing. To be made right.
But how can I fix this stranger on the internet’s broken heart? I don’t know how. I don’t even know this person’s full name, let alone the suffering with which they have been inflicted.
And it turns out that healing is hard.
Like when you shave into your finger while peeling a ginger root, you first must clean a wound in order for it to heal properly. So goes a wound of the deeper kind – to the heart and soul. But cleaning a fresh, bleeding wound is gross and painful. It’s hard to face our pains, our memories, our regrets and our fears. They are traumatizing. Either we have to heal that wound while it’s still raw and painful, or (my typical route) we let our skin close around it and the pain wear away. We let the wound sit and fester, blending in with the rest of our skin more each day.
And while a nick from cutting vegetables is not likely to get infected, my experience tells me my heart wounds are extremely susceptible to infection. Which then needs to be reopened and the infection removed, bringing us back to the beginning.
It makes sense that, in attempts to heal ourselves, we end up hurting others, spreading the hurt and brokenness. I suppose, in a way, we can find comfort in the fact that at least we are not alone in this hurt-ness. But we each have different wounds that can be reopened in different ways. Not to mention they are in different stages of healing.
I understand why it is that we are hurt and even why that hurt so easily spreads. I just don’t know how I, one average individual, can make a difference. Ah, there it is. That broken something inside me, that sadness that can’t be fixed by an internet connection.
Or can it? More than healing, what I want as I heal from my wounds is someone to see me and to hold my hand. Someone to be there with me when it hurts, to stay by my side, no matter how ugly my cut is or how messy my tears get.
Maybe, just maybe, when I see a stranger on the internet who is hurting I can be another stranger on the internet who sees them, who holds their hand as they go through healing. How do I actually do that? That is something I will figure out as I go. But, for now, one can keep their eyes open and hope.
The Humble Chef 