Healing: A Woman’s Journey from Doctor to Nun
by Sister Dang Nghiem
Highly recommend this book to everyone! I think it is an especially great book for grievers. This book was gifted to me while I was grieving the loss of my partner and it was one of the most special gifts I have ever received.
Summary of Sister Dang Nghiem’s life:
Sister Dang Nghiem (formerly Huong Huynh) is a Buddhist nun, ordained by Thich Nhat Hanh. She was born in Vietnam in 1968 during the Tet Offensive and raised in Vietnam, mainly by her grandmother after her mother disappeared when she was around 10 years old. She suffered a lot in her life: she was raped by a local man as a child with her mother watching and not intervening; she was repeatedly raped by her uncle; she lost a partner suddenly to drowning in 1999; etc. She came to the United States in 1985, learned English, and eventually graduated from UCSF as a medical doctor. After her partner died from disappearing/drowning in the ocean, she decided to become a Buddhist nun, a dream her grandmother had for her since she was born. This book is about her life and her healing journey. Her main beliefs are around the healing power of mindful awareness and nondiscrimination. It is a short book (146 pages) and engaging to read.
Personal response to the book:
For me, this book was full of fascinating insights. In speaking about her relationship with her partner, she says, “I held on to my suffering tightly, and I was convinced no one could understand it. As a result, even though we loved each other tremendously, I hung on to my own ignorance and I let our happiness be burdened by the past-- and all my fears, worries, and prejudices.” I think this is beautifully stated. Every person comes with baggage and issues and suffering arise in all types of relationships from people holding onto their past and what has happened to them. Often, conflict arises not because of an issue at hand, but because of a past being held in a person’s body and mind. When she says she holds onto her suffering tightly, it reminds me of Peter Levine’s description of unresolved trauma symptoms in Waking The Tiger. Levine says, “as they become chronic, hyperarousal, constriction, helplessness, and dissociation produce an anxiety so intense it can become unbearable. Eventually, the symptoms can coalesce into traumatic anxiety, a state that pervades the trauma sufferer’s every waking (and sleeping) moment.” When Levine says that trauma pervades every waking/sleeping moment, it reminds me of when Sister Nghiem says she held onto her suffering tightly.
I have empathy for the author’s experience of bringing her baggage to moments of happiness and as a reader, I’m inspired by her self-awareness. She says, “suffering shadowed my whole life, but I did not acknowledge it as an entity that affected my life. Instead, it was me and it was my life.” Throughout the memoir, she speaks about how we are the source of our own suffering, describing the sentiment that, “pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional.” We intensify our pain because of our own perceptions. She says, “I may suffer, but I am no longer romanticizing or clinging to my suffering. For as long as I live, I do not want to choose darkness over light anymore.” I really enjoy this insight of not clinging/romanticizing suffering. I struggle with not wanting to cling to my own suffering sometimes. I lost my partner to a traumatic death and clinging to my suffering about this death is sometimes wrapped up with grief and love for Brian. Letting it go sometimes feels like letting go of Brian which is uncomfortable and not what I want. It makes me feel like I am abandoning Brian. In The Body Keeps the Score, one of Van Der Kolk’s soldier patients refuses to take medicine for his nightmares and says, “I realized that if I take the pills and the nightmares go away…I will have abandoned my friends, and their deaths will have been in vain. I need to be a living memorial to my friends who died in Vietnam.” This quotation speaks to how sometimes traumatic experiences can make a person feel their own life is irrelevant and futile. For me, the “shadow” that Sister Nghiem describes reminds me of that feeling of being a living memorial and my own life being consumed by that but in a traumatic way, rather than a loving and healing way. Van Der Kolk goes on to describe that posttraumatic stress isn’t all in one’s head but has a physiological basis. This feels relevant for me to describe because I initially read Sister Nghiem’s “suffering is optional,” as being dismissive of my own suffering, but the reality is that there is a biological processing that can happen in which the memory and pain is still there, but the physiological/sympathetic response is no longer activated. I think calming the nervous system can be a way that suffering becomes optional for me. I can think of the pain of losing Brian and notice it and not let it take the driver’s seat.
I enjoyed the author’s wisdom in speaking about losing her partner at a young age and her healing journey in grief specifically. She speaks a lot about her suffering and sadness and also how it transformed into healing. She says after being a nun for a year, “there was a gradual transformation in my way of thinking and in my behaviors. I had slowly begun to embrace my sadness without siding with it or thinking that it is permanent. When I missed the physical body of my partner, I meditated on its parts, tossed by the waves, torn, dispersed, and deteriorated. When memories of our lives together became acute and intense, I breathed. I breathed through each wave of ‘yearning,’ of regret, of guilt, of what-could-have-been. Every time I asked him, “where are you?” A quiet voice immediately responded, “I am here. I have never left you.” I did not only lose a partner. I lost my childhood all over again. I lost my soul mate. I lost the accepting father and the gentle mother that he was to me. I lost the dream of a “normal life,” which I had tried so hard to achieve. Now I had to face my own mind. With the practice of mindfulness, I saw more clearly the workings of my mind, and I had new respect for it.”
This quotation really moved me. I related to it a lot and it also gave me some hope. It gave me hope that all of the trauma from my partner’s death that also triggered all the trauma of my past could be observed and transformed by me. It inspired me to also want to just notice and label sadness without taking its side or letting it drive. It reminds me of how Peter Levine in Waking the Tiger talks about “uniting the two polarities,” which is part of the process of helping people to transform their trauma. I can hold sadness without falling into it and I can hold it alongside other feelings rather than just being consumed by it. Like Sister Nghiem, I have dreams and experiences in which my partner also tells me that he hasn’t left and is with me. I also feel like I lost a soul mate and the person that nurtured me like a mother and father. I think this passage is brilliant in how she describes that the loss of a loving partner is a loss of all the love she felt like she had in the world (layers of neglect/trauma in her life revealed), but there was also a gradual recognition that he was still there and the love had not left.
Sister Nghiem gives me hope and inspiration. She writes, “[i]t was not my time to die. I must live to become liberated from my own wrong perceptions and habit energies. I must live to know life for what it truly is. I had a deep wish to love my partner unconditionally, and I must live to carry out his love. His body may cease, but he continues on through me. Each day I take stable steps for him…I walk with the awareness that my loved ones step with me into stability and freedom.” I think about this passage almost every day. Everyday I try to slow down and feel Brian’s love and carry him and that love with me in every step. I live for us both. Sister Nghiem gave me that insight and freedom to live with the memory and love of Brian, and to hold that love and pain together, recognizing but not falling into my suffering.