All of Us Here

JENNIFER J. CAMP

5 min read ⭑

I don’t know what she wants to say, what she could say to you. (Is she who is speaking now?) But I want to give her room to speak if she wants to. I want her opinion to register here. She is the pure one, the one who has existed long ago, long before humanity and its attempts to figure everything out.

She is wondrous and solid and exquisite. I am learning to love her, to know her as deeply as she deserves.

I like her. How beautiful she is.

Let me explain.

A handful of days ago, I journeyed two and a half hours by plane to Denver, Colorado, where I then took a shuttle, another one and a half hours to a quiet inn in Colorado Springs called The Hideaway. There, I participated in a five-day experiential group therapy program through Noble Workshops. Both a friend who had participated in it and a former mentor encouraged me to attend. With curiosity and trepidation, I said yes.

For most of my life, even as a child, I have yearned for hope in a world that feels both vast and strange, with a heart that also feels vast and strange. And it is not narcissistic, I’ve decided, to ponder why we do what we do — why we are angry, why we are sad, what motivations underlie both our selfish decisions and our beautiful acts of love. I believe this exploration may be an essential step in helping the self return home.

Come, come find me.

When I left for the trip, I felt grounded, happy and curious to see what God would do. Unlike my two seasons of traditional therapy years ago, this venture into group therapy felt less desperate. At the time, I didn’t feel overwhelmed; my heart wasn’t breaking.

Yet, the first night, alone in my room, insecurity and fear blindsided me when I thought about what my first day of group work might hold.

My eyes spilling tears. I wrote in my journal desperate pleas to God:

“What am I doing here? What am I feeling in my body? Oh, yes, shame. I don’t trust myself to speak. I don’t trust that what I may attempt to articulate is valuable for others to hear.

“And this makes me wonder, what, in general, is valuable? What is worth sharing? You are safe to me, Father, but I am second-guessing everything. Are you here? Are you here with me?

“Please come. Please rescue me and help me. This is so much harder than I thought it would be. I don’t know how to do this, and I don’t trust this process. I lack patience. I lack compassion. I have decided not to talk, as doing so would be dishonest and performance-based. I want to be honest. I want to be true.

“What is going on here, Father, Jesus, Holy Spirit? Are you here? I know you love to heal, but I don’t think I can do this. I don’t feel you. I want to go home. How do I survive this? I want to run — and I did not at all anticipate feeling this way.

“Please, don’t be silent with me. I need you. Be my voice.”

And, finally, from deep within me, I hear Holy Spirit say, “You know I will be.”

“But God, what is it I am feeling?

“Shame.”

“Oh gosh, I don’t want to talk about this with [the group], not with them.”

“Then talk to me. Pretend no one else is here but me. Talk to me.”

“Okay. But why? Why is this good? What will happen if I do this?”

“We are uncovering something together, you and I.”

“What?”

“You’ll see.”

“How?”

“Trust me. No one else. Just me. “

“Okay. Please help me do that.

“You’ve got me.”

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“I feel, for the first time in my life, I am not in competition for love. Rather, in this vast world of strangers, each desiring to be known and valued, I find family. All of us here, longing to be loved.”

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The next four days were a steady plodding through memory and emotion, and sometimes pain.

There is much that is hidden. And I want to uncover it. I am here to show you.

The six of us in my group, guided by our two counselors, jumped into the most difficult moments of each other’s stories and, through language and role playing, led each other to deeper understandings of what had been breaking our hearts. Rather than simply discussing our struggles, the workshop’s experiential aspect invited us to process our emotions by engaging with our memories and experiences, as well as being part of reframing them. There was much revelation and discovery, including the opportunity to explore further and heal.

Trust me.

At the Denver airport, waiting for my flight back to San Francisco, I reflected on some of the moments from the week — the most impactful one happening in the middle of a dramatization of the parts of me that use performance, shame and self-criticism as mechanisms of self-protection. I had different group members role-play these parts.

Emily (not her real name) was Performer Jennifer, Greg (not his real name) was Shame Jennifer, and Tommy (not his real name) was Self-Critical Jennifer. I began by talking to Performer Jennifer, and right from the start, I felt like I was being inauthentic. I felt tension in me, like this wasn’t what I needed to do.

So, rather than go through the motions and continue with the scene, I hit pause, took a step toward authenticity, and communicated, through a blur of tears, what it was that I truly wanted:

“I want to feel loved. I want to feel like I am part of a family. I want to feel like I belong. And I feel that from you, so thank you. Thank you for making me feel like I can do nothing and still be loved. I can just stand here, I can just be me, and I can be loved…..And, also? I think I would really love to be hugged.”

Without hesitation, these five other group members, who had been strangers just days before, surrounded me, their bodies and arms a blanket and shield. In sync, over my trembling head, they repeated, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” And when they pulled away, I heard the Father’s voice in my heart, deep and sure: “You belong.”

Thinking back on the workshop experience, as I stand amid crowds at the airport — dogs and children, wheelchairs and couples — I feel, for the first time in my life, I am not in competition for love. Rather, in this vast world of strangers, each desiring to be known and valued, I find family. All of us here, longing to be loved.

“True love of self entails a profound acceptance of ourselves … settling into ourselves as we actually are without attempting to change our experience.”
—Richard Rohr

We must get acquainted with the parts of ourselves that have been hurt and show them kindness. They deserve that. They have been fighting for a long time, and they are tired. They need to be gathered up and loved, loved, loved.

What parts of you are hurting?

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Jennifer Camp is a poet and listener who delights in investigating the deeper places of the heart. She founded Gather Ministries with her husband, Justin, is Editor-at-Large of Rapt Interviews and manages Loop Collective, a community for women who reject complacency and pursue connection with God.

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