Discussion Question (from the same book)

“Why are we often tempted to flee from our abyss?”

Facing the Abyss

If I’m honest, the reasons come quickly:

• It’s too deep.
• It’s too painful.
• It scares us.
• We believe we can hide it—from others, and even from ourselves.

When I read those lines, I immediately thought of my mother—how she was, how she has been, and how she is now. I have seen her completely absorbed by her pain. I believe she still lives there. Maybe that is where the cynicism, the negativity, the cruelty come from: a wound left open for too long.

But I have been there too—sometimes in pockets, sometimes longer. I have also hidden behind distraction and busyness to avoid what hurts. I carry my own wounds: the mother wound, the father wound, the infertility and childlessness wound, and even the strange wound of finally being seen after years of feeling invisible.

Working Around My Abyss

For me, “working around my abyss” has felt like emotional excavation. It feels like therapy and like prayer. It is slow, messy, and at times frightening—as if getting too close could make me fall in and never stop.

When I begin to think of the abyss as a wound rather than an empty void, the questions I ask change:

• What have I allowed to fester?
• What keeps this wound open?
• Have I sought the proper salve, bandages, or stitches that might help it slowly close?

These questions offer no quick fixes—but they invite gentleness, accountability, and prayerful attention.

Closing Reflection

Healing does not come from avoidance—healing comes from presence. Working around the abyss means learning to be near our wounds without allowing them to define us. It is where grace meets grief, and where God slowly rebuilds what pain once tore apart.

“A deep wound is not the end of the story. It can be the beginning of transformation.”