Supersalve

Healing comes in many forms. There is the kind of recovery one gets from the hospital, stitches carefully sewn, medicines meticulously prescribed, all to address the body's aches and pains. Prayer to me is a given, as I've already witnessed countless miracles in my lifetime and I'm inclined to say that my faith in the Lord is steadfast and I pray for it to only get stronger as I get older.

And then there is the kind of emotional salve by which to this day I am continually amazed for its cathartic properties. Years ago, I picked up from one of my early editors the idea of writing to a person who has caused you hurt and wounded your being. She had, at the time, penned all her woes to an ex who cheated on her.

What initially baffled me about this process was that it entailed writing an elaborate letter and NOT sending it. Over the years, I would read articles left and right touting this method of dealing with one's anger and resentment towards another.

A few nights ago, I tossed and turned, and like an unwelcome ghost, was haunted once again by feelings of hurt and frustration borne out of an experience in New York involving some people (barely friends) saying scathing things about me. What angered and struck me the most, was the ignorance and malignancy of the rumors, directed to someone who has kept a clean reputation all these years.

I sat up and wrote an email, hoping to finally clear the air out and have one less aggravator to attribute the L.A.N.Y.s to.

I saved the file intending to send it in the morning, and then slept on it. The next day, it wasn't until mid-afternoon that it occurred to me that I hadn't sent the email yet. And I actually no longer felt the need to because I already felt better. It dawned on me, again, the miraculous qualities of writing and "simmering"—essentially letting go and moving on.