Capacity
- Heidi Vilchez-Teller
- 4 days ago
- 2 min read
For two years preceding the death of my father I had been in weekly EMDR therapy. I could talk on EMDR for lifetimes, it literally saved me. I was processing a lot from childhood and the year or so before his passing I had a really hard time being around him. I explain EMDR like taking all your organs out and examining them, trying to understand what they mean and then packing them back in your abdominal cavity the right way. When I was that raw and vulnerable, being around my Dad especially was painful and triggering, so I created space. It was space that I needed, it was a boundary that served me for a time. But boundaries are flexible, what a gift.
A few days before he was hospitalized I had an epiphany while driving to an overnight getaway with my husband. I had arrived in a place where I was no longer upset with him, I had completely forgiven him through the work I had done. There was no grand apology or conversations where I told him everything. It was an internal job and it brought me to a moment where in every cell of my body I knew, he did the best he could with what he had.
Their ceiling becomes your floor. This is one of my favorite phrases because how magnificent! We just keep building upon one another. And duality- there are so many gifts here, often the generational trauma overshadows that, but they are real and special.
Getting to a place of true forgiveness and grace two weeks before his death isn't lost on me. So much so that I carried guilt for a while after his passing. Wishing I could have been there sooner, spent more time with him in those final months. But here's the thing, healing can't be rushed. We'd be doing ourselves a disservice to think we could place parameters around self excavation.
Capacity is one quality EMDR created in me. Capacity to not only feel my pain but also my joy. I lost one of my favorite people and I could hold it without imploding on myself. I could access duality very quickly and honestly I just don't view death the same anymore. Losing my Dad sent me on a spiritual awakening, so much of me changed after and for that I am eternally grateful. I love who I am now, who I am still becoming.
And this is what I wish for everyone, that we all truly adore who we are. That we can care for ourselves and heal for those things we don't talk about so that we have capacity to feel it all.
Comments