Reflections on Healing a Broken Heart
“You seem to have led a charmed life,” her words echoed uncomfortably in my ears. Yes, after twenty years of marriage all the visible markers of a charmed and successful life were in place: a healthy child, a thriving business, and a beautiful home. But something was wrong, and I knew that beneath the beautiful backdrop of my life was an inner hunger so strong it was boring a hole through my stomach. I had an ulcer, as well as a fiery passion that fueled my dreams. It was clear that my partner and I were developing different interests, but wasn’t that normal? Where once we had worked in tandem on so many projects, we now worked independently, and what fired me up, left him cold. Despite all my noble efforts to create ‘the good life,” a sadness seemed to be creeping in, showing me that the life that once seemed to be good enough, wasn’t enough. A slow fear began to envelop me—whether I plunged into my work or deepened my friendships, or quietly grieved with my journal, there was no relief. There were no Excedrins for my heart.
Because I own a metaphysical bookstore and have read many of the books on relationships, I expected myself to move quickly beyond this confusion. But this journey was moving in a manner and time far beyond my control. My mind obviously didn’t know what was happening, so my body began speaking up; anxiety attacks arose within me with no known cause, and I would wake at four AM with bolts of electric energy running through me. For months my sleep was disturbed.
As my body chemistry began shifting, I took myself to a therapist—a man who loved the books in my shop and who had a gutsy acceptance of the dark side of life. Because I believe the spiritual and the emotional are so bound up with issues around forgiveness of our humanness, I chose a man who was familiar with this territory. I didn’t want to do a spiritual by-pass on anything—I wanted to question myself, my partner, my spirituality, my expectations, and…to fix it!
The first issues to come up were not about my marriage, but were around my inability to forgive a betrayal in friendship and the constant pain of dealing with the suffering of my aging mother. Week after week I turned my attention to the work I was doing with the therapist, and I began feeling loved, heard, understood. I became more receptive and began seeing meaningful connections in my life. I learned how to hold and protect myself by aligning myself with a higher power, and soon felt “full” enough to forgive my friend.
I also noticed that the deep and intimate relationship with the therapist stood in sharp contrast to the lack of intimacy in my marriage, and I began aching for that type of emotional presence that I had with him. I tried to bridge the gap, but my partner and I had no common language; he didn’t like delving into an area which he had no words for. And he wasn’t feeling good. In his own way and without words, he was hurting deeply and grieving too.
I however, was not only in the process of discovery and healing, but of living an illusion of sorts: I had projected my soul, my “animus” (as the Jungians would say) onto my therapist and withdrew energy from my marriage. I turned to the therapy, to books, to God, to going back to school, to writing. My expectations of how it should all be were falling apart but I was going as fast as I could to hold onto something.
As the dependency and transference of love to my therapist slowly began to release itself, I felt the growing pains of my neglected marriage. I was plain lonely, and couldn’t deny that I was moving through hell, like Persephone, always struggling to get unstuck and up into the light again. But my partner disassociated himself from my hell, my pain, and withdrew himself into his work. I felt that I was holding all the darkness and pain or our life. I wrote poetry and yearned for a deeper love. As the denial fell away, we tried in all the old ways; we held tight to being responsible to our duties and we tried couple’s counseling, but it simply brought up more sadness.
Synchronistic events often mark transitions, and that winter the diamond simply fell out of my wedding ring and was lost. With a cold and poignant sweetness, my partner and I decided to try to give each other the only thing that was left: freedom.
Yet nothing changed our lives and the fluctuating denial we clung to—until my body demanded to be heard. I went for a mammogram and it came back undeniably questionable. After many x-rays, I was advised to go to
Someone once said to me a rather sexist comment about separations: women grieve, men leave. Perhaps it is the feminine in all of us that grieves, and the masculine part that takes action. That day, I clearly saw my self-imposed victim-hood and chose to leave. The masculine part of me rose up in anger, in freedom, and in the middle of a raging snowstorm—I moved out. I found a new place to live that very day, and summoned up all the courage I could to face the inevitable void.
It wasn’t so bad at first. My creative juices flowed into making a new nest for myself, and before long I began dating. Maybe I could just get over it, let go, and get on with life. No drama. But all the beautiful and sweet moments of our marriage kept creeping back into my psyche. The feminine grieving had a grip on me. I couldn’t let go and I found myself crying at every turn.
I’ve heard it said that suffering is a hard kind of grace that teaches us compassion. For twenty years I’d worked on a dream that was now shattered and I expected myself to just get over it. My persona of self-sufficiency hid my aching desire to be held in sweet surrender in a lover’s heart. I was just beginning a crash course in compassion—compassion for myself and for all others who have lived through great suffering. Is it trite to say I was finally getting in touch with my true feelings? That I was outraged, terribly sad, and pissed as hell that it might take a very long time before I could go for more than two hours—or two days without crying?
Dating seemed like the best cure—or was it revenge? And it did feel good to have those “highs” of being seen and heard and courted. Yet by the end of that summer I stopped my dating. And that’s when he began his serious dating. At this point all I could do was grieve and rage at our loss.
It must have been toxic right down to my gut, for when my body acted up again, this time it was with a serious attack of appendicitis that put me in the hospital for over a week. The toxicity had spread, and at one point I thought that death was not a totally unwelcome probability. My therapist visited me daily. My husband, who was very busy with his new love at this time, reluctantly went through the motions of getting me released from the hospital, but he wasn’t willing to sit and be with me in my fragile state. Twenty years of marriage sat face to face with twenty days of his new love, and she won.
I remember the night before leaving the hospital—I raged at his coldness, wrote volumes in my journal, and thought: “I don’t have to burn anymore—I can chose to let it go.” Nearly exhausted, but fueled by my anger, I got out of my hospital bed, turned up the music on my radio, and began dancing like a naked solitary spirit; moving my body slowly and rhythmically, letting it all go once again. I was being released. Something new was being born in me at that moment.
The next day I felt a great sense of gratitude for simply being alive. I knew I had to endure some suffering, but I didn’t have to be a victim. I didn’t have to shame or blame. And when my partner came to get me I had burned through to the place in me which knew that we were both doing the best we could, and that we didn’t know how to do it any better at the time.
“Letting go” is what I do now, over and over again. I realize how hard it is for me to let go to all the ways of thinking that trick me into believing that I am separate from the rest of humanity and special in my suffering. Yet it’s only when I feel that I’m letting go into ‘something’-- into a spiritual process that is greater than my small ego-- that it feels right.
Most spiritual traditions encourage us to accept the idea that we are held lovingly in the heart of God, and grounded in a Oneness into which we can let go. I’ve been looking at this-- testing it almost, and there does seem to be elements of grace and synchronicity that move me along when I trust and let go. The poet, Wendell Berry, put it well: “Willing to die, you give up your will. Keep still until, moved by what moves all else, you move.”
Poetry and prayer are powerful messengers and healers. When I’m feeling vulnerable, and being the earnest striving person that I often am, then I tell God what I need—one form of prayer. But when I live from the part of me that trusts, then I listen and ask, rather than talk—another form of prayer. And I’ve been wondering lately: what is God asking me to see or do at this moment? At these times I often find or write a poem that speaks directly to my heart. There’s often a question being asked or answered, and when I’m receptive, I get it.
Get what? The answer I get is to go on being a person worth loving, and to “cocoon.” That is, to process what’s happening by giving myself the time and space to do it without expecting too much too soon. And as I do this I tend to suspect that I --or God?-- have been orchestrating a release from a relationship that simply had run its course. And so I constantly choose to move from an attitude of victim-hood and blaming to one in which I own my power and responsibility.
Cocooning has its own rewards—while my heart waits to know one special love again, there is still grace and synchronicity everywhere, and I strive to be busy with the work I feel called to do. Sometimes I doubt myself, but mostly I have faith. I believe that as my heart was breaking, it was also breaking open and softening, rather than closing and hardening. I’m choosing to soften, and to honor the truth of my story. Despite the wounds I gave and received, I strive to look at this separation with spiritual eyes, sensing that there is a meaning and a blessing here.
Cocooning into a greater consciousness is the great work for me now; and it’s a daily job that brings not joy, but contentment. And when I feel the little unexpected graces—that surprise call from an old friend perhaps—then I know that while my heart heals, I am being held, and I trust.
Elizabeth Spring MA is a counseling astrologer, and can be reached for consultations at elizabethspring@aol.com or 401-294-5863
Pluto’s Wound; Healing the Wounded Heart
"There are no Excedrins for the heart.”
When Pluto makes challenging aspects to our personal planets there is often a crisis leading to a sense of loss. Buried aspects of the psyche and repressed tensions in relationships emerge, leaving the heart wounded.
Pluto’s wounds to the heart are invisible, just like the mythological Pluto is invisible. But a broken heart, or an abused or neglected heart, can be as painful as any other wound, even though we can’t see it.
Pluto seeks to transform and not to hurt, but it often begins this transformation by ruthlessly taking away from us the very love that we think we most need. The healing work of Plutonian wounds happens beneath the surface of consciousness, just like a physical wound heals from the inside out. We need to tend to this wound in a very similar way to any other wound—here are some things to consider:
1—First slow down. When you are wounded you stop! I like to think of this natural impulse to slow down, as the call to go inward and begin to “cacoon.” Just as when you are sick you go to bed, so also, when your “heart is breaking” your energy flows inward to question and grieve, leaving you little energy for anything else. Give yourself a break, slowing down, and taking care of your basic needs: food, rest, and basic self-care.
2—Diagnosis: What do you have? Is this the last wound of a broken relationship? Or is this a warning sign, an “angina” of the heart? How do you describe the condition, how long have you had it, and how did you get it? Why did you get it? The wounded heart needs professional help with this, just as we often need to see a doctor. But if this isn’t possible, you can do this with a friend or with your journal. Take out pen and paper and write it all down. Clarity is a beginning.
3—Create a Treatment Plan—Apply something to calm the pain down. Some have said there are no excedrins for the heart, but you can do several things to ease the pain:
* Go inward to find the healer within, and follow instructions! Your own intuitive healer may say you’ve got to write it out, paint it out, cry or rage it out, or simply clean your house with a passion. This inner healer might ask you to do something radical—and if it’s not too rash, do it. Example: you may benefit by getting away for awhile from your home or circle of friends—consider a retreat or vacation to some place where you can gain perspective. Even a day away can help. Another example: consider surrounding yourself with things you love. This could be buying something you’ve denied yourself till now, such as a cat, a special piece of furniture, a musical instrument, or whatever you may have put on hold. (After my divorce, I hated the loneliness of my double bed. So I bought a large aquarium and delighted in creating a Neptunian underwater scene. I put this in my line of vision across the bed and lit it up at night.) You’ll intuitively know what’s right for you to do.
* Go outward for help. Surround yourself with life affirming supportive things and people. When artist Georgia O’Keefe was suffering from heart-wounding depression early in her life she was delighted to discover how surrounding herself with color, plants, and bright light restored her. Could you repaint your bedroom? Could you change the lighting? Next, get yourself a therapist, coach, astrologer, or friend (or all!) and delve deep into your life until the sting is out of the story. You’ll need to tell and re-tell your story until you can see it as one drama within the larger story of your life. Consider what lessons or insights can be gained and be open to the idea of how this experience can generate new possibilities for you.
* Find the invisible Plutonian germs. What unconscious elements have led up to this? How have your expectations, fears, or old patterns created or irritated this wound? This important unconscious element is like the dirt or germ in the wound. You may not be able to see it all at first. Keep cleaning and poking around. It hurts, but you need to understand the part you played in this wounding. Bring it up to your awareness so it won’t be repeated in the future. During Pluto transits we often regress to obsessive-compulsive coping patterns, so by admitting your anger and your less-than-perfect behavior you cleanse the wound with a deeper level of understanding.
*Apply a clean bandage. The bandage is your attitude and your healing plan. It will be temporary and will need to be changed. Stick with your Plan even when it’s hard. If you re-expose yourself to the wounding partner you risk contagious anger and depression. If possible, don’t expose yourself to re-infection or more wounding.
4—Give the tender wound time to heal. Protect your heart from the toxic “advice” of well-meaning friends, and resist the urge to expose your vulnerability to the world. But yes, you will sometimes break down crying in the produce department in your local supermarket. So be patient and pace yourself. Can you create some scheduled routines and “dates” in your week? This could be as simple as knowing that every Wednesday night you go to the library, and every Friday night you go out to dinner with friends from work, and every Sunday night you call an old friend for a heartfelt talk. Perhaps part of your treatment plan is to go to the gym or out for a walk every other morning for 30 minutes. Put the schedule up in a place you see frequently, and forgive yourself if you’re not perfect. The wound is healing beneath the surface.
5—Find the “healing medicine” you need. Here’s where astrology can be helpful. What other aspects do you have besides this Pluto that’s wrecking havoc? Have you not seen that your 9th house of the higher mind, education, and travel is being activated this spring? Could you take a class or plan a trip? Could you mentor someone or teach a class? And what about that Uranus in the 5th house? Maybe you find yourself attracted to someone very much outside your normal life? Why not? Look at your chart to see where you can play with new possibilities and also to see the length of the “illness.” Like all woundings, full healing takes a long time, but we don’t have to suffer unduly in the early stages, and the final stages of healing can be full of light and unexpected epiphanies. Two years of a Pluto transit does not mean two years of hell.
A last word of caution: be honest about your wound. Don’t attempt any new relationships without being very honest about what’s been happening with you--tell the truth right in the beginning. Astrologers will remind you to trust that new life cycles happen naturally, and you’ll be given more chances to heal your heart. But attempting a quick fix such as trying to remain zen-fully detached and unfeeling is like attempting a spiritual bypass on an emotional wound. It won’t last in the long run. What we feel, we can heal—and though a wound leaves a scar, scars are like tattoos and tell an interesting story. Why not make your story inspiring as well as interesting?
