Fingers of Intellect, Bones of Emotions
Weird title, right? Everything somehow becomes a metaphor to me.
I broke my wrist on February 2, but thought I only sprained it. My wrist was very broken, but my fingers still worked perfectly. I still had coordination. What I had lost was my weight-bearing ability. I couldn’t hold a coffee mug. But I could almost braid my hair. I would come so close that I would get really frustrated, but I just could not bend my arm that way. I felt like if I simply tried harder, it would not be a problem. Now that I am getting that range of motion back, braiding my hair is a no-brainer.
Shame is like my broken wrist. Trying harder has never helped. My intellect is just fine, probably better than most people’s, but I feel like I am living a “loser life.” I work a minimum-wage job where unreliable employees are treated much better than I am. It is not that I think I am unappreciated; I actually am. It is not a mis-perception on my part.
Understanding things intellectually accomplishes little. There are plenty of brilliant alcoholics in this world. Some of them live on the street. You would be shocked at the intelligence level of some street people. Intelligence alone accomplishes nothing.
This is the arena of Gabor Mate, the Hungarian/Canadian physician specializing in addiction and childhood trauma. He gets it, both personally and professionally.