The Grateful Elephant
Sometimes the deepest healing doesn’t fight—it bows. Notice what changes within and between… as you read or listen.
You’re welcome to listen to me read these words—sometimes hearing them changes how they land. Let’s take a breath—together.
Gratefulness is a funny thing. Sometimes we have a hard time seeing it—and run right by it.
The ever-present elephant inside all of us does see it—and gratefully bows. We don’t have to keep running away from the hurt and pain. I’m grateful for it, as it allows me to see the heart—our Core Self.
I invite you to pause for a moment and take a breath. I’m thinking of a story that will help you experience what I’m saying—and bring you home.
There’s a sweet little girl I’m getting to know. She says her name is “Daisy.” She loves to jump and play—and lights up a room. But her father can’t see it. He used to like it, but now, as she becomes more independent and finds her voice, he acts annoyed… sometimes worse… like she doesn’t matter.
Her mother stays quiet as she doesn‘t want to upset him—and be the target of his wrath. When her father comes home, Daisy scurries to her room—quiet and alone.
Needless to say, it isn’t easy growing up—and being an adult gets even more complicated. It becomes hard for her to find the light inside—but she never gives up. After all, she is Daisy, and she always knows the light is there.
But it’s getting even harder to find it when the love isn’t there in the way she deserves.
To survive, she does what she learned to do. She feels blinded and tries to look the other way. But she still feels the pain in her body—remembering that “The Body Keeps the Score,” the book that led her to me.
I help her to find her breath and look inside, though she wants to hide her face instead. So much shame—flooded by the pain of looking at herself, and what she feels inside that is not her truth. Instead—her father’s fear and anger—his pain.
Slowly, she lifts her head and begins to look at me—seeing the light in my eyes. No shame… only love, a belief in who she is and has always been. Bowing to the glory of her Core Self, the person she was born to be.
Occasionally, she catches a glimpse of her own light in the mirror inside herself, as she feels my compassion for the little ones who have felt so alone—for too long.
The tears flow, and she feels her anger and loss. Lots of tissue catching her tears—seeing more clearly the light inside.
I speak slowly from my heart, slowing her down to see and feel her own. Despite the pain, she has such a big heart that is now there for her, not just for others.
I tell her that she is doing fine… and to take her time. I’m at her side—grateful to be doing this work together. And I’m not going anywhere.
With a deep breath, she is reminded of her grandfather. She sees the light in his loving eyes, still with her—even though there wasn’t enough time before he was gone.
Finally, she looks up, and I see the light—the glow around her face and body. I put my hand on my heart and say, “You’re beautiful... What do you feel inside?”
There are no words—just a smile… and light.
Gazing into each other’s eyes for what feels like forever, her words arrive: “Thank you, Marc. I can see it and feel it now. I am beautiful. I was a beautiful child and now I am a beautiful woman. I’m home, and I know that home is in the heart. My little ones are here—and they are safe now. I don’t live in the past anymore.”
With tears flowing, I look over at the elephant on my mantel and softly say, “Let’s take a deep bow—like the one you brought back to me from your travels. We have so much to be grateful for.”
She adds, “And not just me… my kids are grateful, too. Because of our work, they have their mother back in their lives in the way they have always deserved. My light has been the bridge that helped each of them find their own light—and each other. It still does—for all of us.”
Wow… Like following a beautiful river of tears, I say, “You will always be a family—home in Vermont—even when the house is quiet. You each have a bigger home within and between that holds you together.”
As the dance comes to an end, the words arrive in unison, “We live in the light. We can hold the pain and bring joy to the world.”
A deep bow to all those reading or listening to these words. May you always see your light and let it guide you home.
The light of invisibility shows us the way. That’s our Core Self—not fighting wars and continuing the hatred and destruction, but helping us heal together. We can live in the light and be the people and world we were always meant to be.
Going back to the image I started with, notice the picture within the picture. Even when the path is broken, the daisies will always find the light.
The sacred elephant is grateful. Let us all take a bow—together. ❤️
Gratitude: In appreciation of the courageous woman who inspired this story, who knows how important this work is to everyone. Special thanks to all those who have shared their light and sweetness with me over the years—and received mine.
Confidentiality note: The above client graciously granted her consent to share her story. Some details were not included or altered to protect confidentiality while preserving the truth of the experience. My words may feel familiar to many of you, because our lives so often echo one another in the shared fabric of human experience.
Comments or questions? Email me at mcecilvt@aol.com. Feel free to share these words—and this blog—with anyone you hold close or long to be held.
About the author: Marc Cecil is a doctoral-level licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. An experienced psychotherapist, supervisor, consultant, and teacher, Marc uses an integrated experiential model grounded in our capacity for adaptive change to help people heal from complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma.
Dr. Cecil lives in Vermont near the shores of Lake Bomoseen, where his heartfelt stories and images of connection arise from the light of invisibility, bringing life to therapy—and therapy to life.