'the hatch'

Hey

I want to share something from a friend of mine…

It’s a haunting yet uplifting poem about the parts of ourselves we lock away...the feelings, instincts, and inner voices that we abandon…but most importantly, it’s how we can heal them.

It’s a beautiful piece of art that, I believe, will inspire you and help you connect to your own dark parts that need love.

They're waiting to come home…and this poem will help you do just that.

Without further ado, here is “The Hatch” by Gary Brown:

There’s a hatch in the floor of my house.
Most people never notice.
As I keep it covered.
Under a worn old rug.
I stand over it when they visit.
To be sure they don’t see.

Quite often, strange noises come from there.
Rasps, rattles and thumps.
I worry anyone will notice.
Or worse, ask questions.
So, I talk loudly and quickly.
Show off things I’ve made and done.
Create wild and outlandish stories.
To cause a distraction.
But I think they know.

The hatch leads down to a dark cellar.
Where wild and terrible beasts live.
Too terrifying to comprehend.
They claw frantically at the wood and wail wildly.
At raised voices.
Loud noises.
And poor choices.
Even if I laugh too much.
So, I don’t.

At times, the hatch bursts open.
Without warning.
For no apparent reason at all.
At least it seems that way.
But how could I notice.
When all I can think about.
Is how awful it would be.
If it did.

With a bang.
All hell breaks loose.
And the battle begins.
To close it again.
Nothing else matters.
Tempers rise.
Fists fly.
Voices cry.
Everyone runs.
Without knowing why.
Leaving me to fight alone.
But even the warrior.
Gets battle weary in time.

One day, I let the door open.
Without a fight.
I have none left.
And it appears.
Wary.
To the lack of resistance.
But snarling.
Furious.
Wild-eyed.
Then wails so loudly it hurts.

The sounds pierce my being.
I cover my ears and sing loudly.
Like I used to.
To escape the moment.
Drown it out.
Pretend it’s not there.
Until it’s not.
But it only wails louder.

Certain it will consume me.
I gracefully accept.
With open arms.
Almost grateful.
Helpless and broken.
It’s going to devour me.
And I hope it does.

Jaws gaping.
Teeth baring.
Drool slopping.
It stops.
Sniffs.
Turns a full circle.
And flops on the floor.

I make to move.
It flinches.
I stop.
It stops.
The slower I am.
The less it reacts.
The softer I am.
The more it settles.
Until resting its head on my lap.
I let out a sigh.
And it falls asleep.
Both equally weary.
Of a fruitless fight.

I get up slowly.
And it flickers an eye.
I usher it toward the hatch.
To lock it away again.
It whimpers.
Winces.
Looking sad and afraid.
I think I know.
So, I choose to let it stay.
For a day.
One day.
Until tomorrow.
Then back down the hatch again.

In the darkness of the night.
I’m awoken by gruff rumblings.
It’s awake and moving.
Over by the window.
Restless.
Agitated.
Something must be outside.

So, I peer into the abyss.
But can’t see anything.
Maybe the thing got scared and ran.
Whatever it might have been.
Or maybe I imagined it.
Or it did.

I go back to bed.
But glad I checked.
And that I’m not alone.
We both settle to sleep.
And maybe I let it stay.
Just a few days more.

After a short while.
I began to notice patterns.
In its behaviour.
Growling at untrustworthy people.
Barking when something felt wrong.
Wanting play when I stressed too much.
Snuggling in when I felt sad.
And pestering me.
If I ignored it for too long.

But it still, at times.
Wailed at the wind blowing.
If I checked, it went to sleep.
If I didn’t, it wailed all night.
Just in case.
And if wailing didn’t work.
It dragged me by my feet.
Out of bed and to the floor.
And it shook me.
Until I took notice.

Over time trust grew.
On both sides.
If it was just the wind, I would say.
Then we would rest.
If it was more, I would act.
Then we could rest.
But I could never ignore.
Or the wails grew loud once more.

It could sense things I couldn’t.
Though I wasn’t sure how.
Evolution maybe.
A more primitive brain.
Older than mine.
Wiser maybe.
At first it was annoying.
Sometimes I wished it would shut up.
But when I started to pay attention.
It was almost always right.
And eventually stopped howling at the wind altogether.
When we were safe, it slept.
When there was danger, it stirred.

I began to feed it.
To heed it.
Nurture it.
Love it.
It grew stronger.
Healthier.
I stopped calling it a monster.
It became my guardian.
It became my friend.

With trust came affection.
Though it could still be annoying at times.
I enjoyed having it around.
Thankful for keeping me safe.
And it grew strong and healthy and good.
And I worried less about the hatch.
Because the monster was my friend.
And only wailed when it needed to.

Then one day.
When all was feeling good.
The hatch suddenly gave a loud rasp.
A rattle.
A thump.
Scratching and wailing.
We both leapt up.
Startled.
Scared.

And then something unexpected happened.
The hatch door flew open.
And a new monster appeared.
The same but different.
I felt scared at what was to come.
But a little braver than before.
Again, I let it up and out.
This time I had support.
To fight again.
Should I need to.

As it crept out warily.
Aggressive but afraid.
I was able to see more clearly this time.
I reached towards it.
Fingers trembling.
Palms sweating.
It snarled and wailed.
Then quietened.
Turned to the fire.
And stared in silence.

It had felt the warmth.
Smelled the food.
And it too had been lured.
To the surface.
From the space just below.
Maybe it wasn’t a monster either.
Intent only on attacking me.
But it looked like one.
Scrawny.
Malnourished.
Neglected.
Abandoned.

I let it in.
Like I had before.
I let it stay.
Nurtured it.
Listened to it.
Watched it heal.
Learned to love it.
And over time.
We became friends.

This one was smaller.
Less formidable.
At first, they were unsure of the other.
Spinning and snarling.
And sniffing and snapping.
But over time.
Grew closer.
A bond.
A remembering.
Safe in knowing.
They would work together.
If ever needed.

From that day on I left the hatch door open.
Not recklessly.
But willingly.
Again, and again a new monster appeared.
Each clambering from the shadows below.
Each looking for warmth and nourishment.
After too many years in exile.
Hungry and ignored.
Until the cellar was empty.
And the house was full.

Now the hatch is always open.
The house is louder sometimes.
But it’s alive and thriving.
And if we walk outside.
I don’t walk alone anymore.
I walk with a pack.
Not wild beasts.
Not monsters.
But loyal friends.
And together we are stronger.
Than I ever was alone.

One dark night.
Sat together.
In the warmth of our home.
A memory washed over me.
A recollection, in parts.
As I suddenly realised.
I’d known them all before.
When I was only a child.
And they hadn’t yet grown into their paws.

We had been the ones who locked them away.
When they were young.
Too noisy.
Too disruptive.
Too overbearing.

Not because they were evil.
But because they were inconvenient.
A nuisance.
An irritation.
Unbearable at times.

The calls I had been taught to ignore.
Only became unbearable.
When I stopped listening.

Beautiful.

We all have our own ‘hatch’ filled with, what seems like, monsters…

We can demonize them and lock them away…or help them emerge from the darkness, and heal.

This is what trauma recovery actually looks like…

It's not about managing the ‘monsters’ or learning to cope with them…it's about going down into that cellar, one by one, and bringing everything back up into the light.

Is it painful?

Absolutely.

But Gary's doing it. And so can you.

It’s time to stop standing on that trapdoor…

It’s time…to open it.

— BRAD

PS

Yes…I’m back…the daily emails will now resume!

A little update:

I took a little break from the daily emails to write a book, and I’m happy to say that the core manuscript done…it just needs polishing and editing to be perfected.

I’ve already done 2 full edits on it, but plan on doing several more over the next 1-3 months.

I don’t have an exact timeline for when it will be out, but it will definitely be this year…and you will be the very first to know!

I’m excited to be back sending these emails to you, and I’m grateful you’ve stuck around!

Soo…

Until tomorrow, my friend!

PPS

I will be opening up my trauma recovery membership for a new cohort next week, first time in months…make sure to get on the waitlist below if interested 👇

“No one can heal you, but YOU!”

Tired of healing alone?
👇 Join the waitlist for my private healing community👇

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