I have already mentioned Louise Hay’s theory that we’re all responsible for our own cancers by harbouring unresolved grief

Sorry, I just need to have a moment--

Yes. We are harbours for our own unresolved griefs. We couldn't live them, couldn't let them rip through us with fire and explosive force; we sent them out in ships at anchor, gave ourselves gentle spaces inside us, and said: Not Now. We lived. Away from our own harbours, anchored but like kites, we were free, so much more than those cool dark spaces where our griefs lived. We unfurled, flourished, grew. Some of us, thick and rich and full of flowers, came back to those ships and unloaded them, ate our griefs in fatter years, let them sink through us, then sank those ships and grew coral reefs from them. Others were halted when the barrels on the ships corroded, toxic neglected chemicals mixed and destroyed us like Halifax's harbour, left us hurt and abraded in the ruins to build the city up again. But for a time, we were harbours, we were coastal towns; we found shelter in ourselves, transcended the things that tried to overwhelm us, and made safety out of the sea.

Of course we harboured those griefs. Our harbours sheltered us.