For me, spring is an opportunity for release, for opening up those dark recesses that have lingered for decades, and to sprout and then flower in ways that might have seemed impossible days or months before.
I first realized this just last year when I released a secret I'd kept from someone close to me - my shrink of fourteen years. And there I was, emerging like a crocus, first with bright green blades of memories and then with purple and golden petals right along side the spring snow.
When I revealed it all, I surprised myself. And him! The details and feelings had been there for almost fifty years but apparently inaccessible, at least unmentionable to the doctor responsible for helping me maintain my sense of self and wholeness. Keeping myself fractured with parts hidden had seemed necessary in some way. But then, in late March, right before the trees started to show pink against the blue sky, it all came together without any effort: a fully formed notion I'd been carrying around since my twenties: my father committed suicide at 58 years old.
Without even thinking about it, the words burst into the room as if the forces of spring had taken over. And with no effort, I found myself discussing bits and pieces of a traumatic event that had laid hidden through years of psychotherapy. And then my shrink said, "It sounds like he didn't have a chance." And at that moment, I was released - magically - from a stronghold my father was never able to escape: the combination of alcoholism, poverty, the effects of a toxic job, and the lack of resources to address the very demons that had tried to take my life too: mental illness.
But, unlike my father, I had had the opportunity to listen to something deep within me. Although I grew up in an era fully tainted by the burden of unmentionables, by my teens there had been an awakening of sorts - in me and in the larger community: people were allowed to open up, allowed to look outside themselves and ask for help, allowed to be vulnerable and stop moving on as if constant pain and despair were a natural part of life.
In a strange way, my father's pain was an opportunity for my rebirth, a beautiful gift he gave me. And last March I released it. This March I hope to release more flowers for my spring bouquet.