In my previous article I explored mimetic desire, the paradigm describing where our wants come from. I think of mimetic desire as wanting from “windows.” Like many analyses, the concept of mimesis is morally neutral. It’s not good or bad, it just is, and our work is to choose what windows we look through to carefully cultivate our wants. As we do this work, we move towards healthy admiration.
This is good news for those of us who feel like we consistently battle rivalry born out of the competition for scarce resources. It feels like a victory when we pick the right people to imitate, rather than strive out of inferiority or jealousy.
But truly, our work is just beginning. It’s not enough to choose the right, clean windows if we’re not able to live out what we see and enjoy what we want. Most of us carry with us wounds that interfere with our flourishing. These wounds need attention and healing.
This article will explore the second step on the journey of self-leadership: wanting from wounds.
To want from wounds is to be plagued and handicapped by strong, recurring desires connected to losses and disappointments that, whether we know it or not, inform and influence many of the choices we make in our day, our interpersonal relationships, and even our careers.
What can unhealed losses do?
While I understand that there isn’t necessarily a straight line of cause and effect between losses and emotional unhealth, I have observed and heard others describe some of the connections shown below.
Let me reiterate: I am not saying that this chart reflects universal truths. I am saying that I myself, and others I’ve known and trusted, have recognized patterns connecting past woundedness with present emotional languishing.
Counting My Losses
Following the death of a family member, I read a book on grief and completed a “loss inventory” grieving project assigned in the book: list all of my losses as best as I could remember, in chronological order, assigning a relative weight to each loss. I was stunned to look at a list of over forty significant losses that included an astonishing variety: I’ve lost the closeness of family when my parents and all of my five siblings moved to the US while I remained in Canada; I’ve lost safety in relationships, experienced betrayal of a co-founder, and lost my entrepreneurial identity. I lost the honeymoon phase of marriage and the presence of a family member to mental illness. My mother, my brother’s baby, and a trusted mentor have died. I’ve lost touch at times with God, and I lost a hero when I learned that a man whom I revered turned out to be a sexual predator.
I explored one of the most acute losses in my article, From Striving to Calling. Prior to the sale of a company I built, I experienced a breakdown, sought therapy, fought to understand meaning and purpose, and explored different therapeutic and spiritual modalities to understand and rebuild my emotional landscape. The acute change in my situation brought me to my knees in a bewildering season of rebuilding and rediscovering my identity.
The wounding from loss
These losses wounded me and what I’ve learned in my forties is that our outward behavior often comes from the wounds and losses we’ve collected along the way. One example: I have a friend who grew up in a family that argued about money. As an adult, his goal became building a business so he’d never have money problems. He was wildly successful and sold his business for over $500M. And yet, in a moment of vulnerable reflection, this connection dawned on him and he said, “I need something better to live for now.”
It’s not hard to see a connection between an early childhood experience of stress around money and a drive to live a different experience as an adult. However, many of the wounds we carry around are deep under the surface and, unless we are intentional about addressing them, will drive our choices and drive us away from emotional health and wholeness in ways we may not recognize.
I had gathered and carried many losses through life, but when I became aware of their presence and power, I began the work of healing. The same book that inspired the loss inventory has taught me how to “complete” these losses one by one. Completing a loss that involves another person, briefly, involves discovering unfinished communication in three areas: apologies (“I never got the chance to say I’m sorry for…”); unforgiveness (“I forgive you for…”); and significant emotional statements (“I want you to know…”). By identifying what’s unfinished and bringing it to the light, I have completed what was unfinished in each relationship. I don’t have to revisit the pain over and over again,
This doesn’t happen alone. It happened (and is happening) within my community, through intensive forms of therapy, and through spiritual practices. In general, though, having healed and completed some of these losses, I can pursue a less acute, more sustainable pace of increasing emotional health.
Step by difficult step
I wish this reckoning of losses was something I had little experience with, or a step I could skip on the journey of wanting well. However, I have found that the truth is my friend, and honestly looking at and examining my losses and wounds, as well as the places I search for affirmation, gives me increasing momentum on my journey of wanting well.
If you would like to experiment with and examine your own loss history, you can
- Complete a “loss inventory” as described in The Grief Recovery Handbook, Chapter 9.
- Explore which of these losses are acute and are still incomplete
- Seek help in community, therapy, or spiritual practice to complete these losses
In the next article we’ll move out of the “acute care” phase of our journey towards self leadership and explore the beautiful possibilities of a life freed from the burden of unhealed wounds. We’ll begin to see what it’s like to want from wholeness.
