Tag: anxiety

Look Now From The Place Where You Are

Published on by God is in the OutcomeLeave a comment

New beginnings sound like something exciting, something adventurous. In order to experience a new beginning, however, an ending must be acknowledged and accepted. Truly believing there is no way to alter an ending, especially when that ending was not how you wanted things to end, is outrageously difficult. It is hard for those who have not experienced it to understand, but even when that ending is death of someone you love, it’s very difficult to accept the finality of it. The acceptance comes in fits and starts. There are fits of raging against the world that it shouldn’t be this way. There are desperate cries of sorrow and pleas for an altered ending. I am becoming convinced that the only way to defy the disbelief, to nudge into the acceptance, is to focus on what God has planned for your future, even when it wasn’t the future you planned. In fact, especially when it looks like this isn’t the future you wanted, it’s important to lean into God’s new plans and have faith in them, even when it feels like there is no hope.

Several times in the last three weeks, God has brought a specific passage from Genesis into my path. Imagine that: Genesis, defined by the dictionary as “the beginning or origin of anything,” is the place I’m found studying and pondering.

Abram, eventually to be renamed by God as Abraham, has been waiting for the fulfillment of God’s promise to him. When they arrived at what Abram must have assumed was the Promised Land, his nephew, Lot, took all of the best areas of land and left Abram with the rest. Abram must have thought something like, “Your promise was for leftovers?” but:

”The Lord said to Abram, after Lot had parted from him, “Look around from where you are, to the north and south, to the east and west. All the land that you see I will give to you and your offspring forever. I will make your offspring like the dust of the earth, so that if anyone could count the dust, then your offspring could be counted. Go, walk through the length and breadth of the land, for I am giving it to you.”“
‭‭Genesis‬ ‭13‬:‭14‬-‭17‬ ‭NIV‬‬

In a different translation God said ‘Lift your eyes now and look from the place where you are.’ He was saying don’t look behind you because there is nothing left there for you. Don’t look ahead into what you think should happen or should have happened. Look from the place where you are and, in that, keep having faith that I will do as I promised. My promises were never contingent on whether this would happen; I already saw this coming and I have prepared.

One of the most difficult things about grief is not constantly looking back at what was and also not looking forward at how wrecked what-should-have-been now is. It’s really hard to look from the place where you are. It feels as if disaster surrounds you from behind and ahead. Everything in the now is challenging and leads you to wish for what was and worry about what will be, but we are called by God to be thankful for what was (what we were blessed with in “the before” because it was beautiful and we loved it and them) and to trust His promises for the future.

One of the things He has steadily promised me was provision. I constantly feel internal pressure to do something to make sure His promise comes to fruition. I’m in a challenging place right now and I’ve been instructed to wait on the Lord and to trust and believe in His promise. I’ve been called to be still, which is not a strong attribute of mine. In my heart I truly do believe in Him and His voice. Still my nature consistently challenges me with “what are you doing about it?” Even when I know there is very little I can personally do to alter outcomes ahead of me.

I’m also challenged by purpose. I was a wife, a mom, and a “Lolly” (grandmother) and those were my identity. I’ve lost an identity before and it hurt tremendously, causing me to question who I was as a person if it was not this. I am a nurse by licensure but I’ve known for a long time that God was redirecting that calling on my life and had new directions for me to walk. I thought that direction was wrapped around being a good wife, mama, and Lolly, but a huge part of that identity is gone now that I am a widow.

I’m faced with the question of where that leaves me because it feels as if there is a gaping hole in part of who I am. Multiple people have said things to me about “finding a new husband one day.” This leaves me with a bad taste in my mouth. While I do know that people mean well and, to them, they are offering me a new sense of hope that one day this hole will be filled, my husband cannot just be replaced. I don’t think that, when one loses a child, people would just say “well, just have another one; that’ll make you feel better.” And while I understand that I do not have any idea what God has in store for the rest of my life, that is absolutely something in which I have no interest at all right now. Honestly, if that ever was God’s intent and part of His plan for me, He would have to essentially, figuratively, drop someone in my lap for me to even consider it; even then it would be a challenge to navigate my way through the emotions that would surface as a response.

The overarching theme here is that I have to look now from the place where I am. I cannot look back toward what shouldn’t have happened (only at the joy and blessings that my husband brought to my life.) I cannot look forward as if it were a puzzle I am capable of figuring out; I say this meaning that, although we do make plans, I cannot determine the outcome of my life. I don’t know if I will die tomorrow or not for fifty years so trying to make a plan that encompasses what the rest of my life will look like is foolish. I have to look from where I am now. One step at a time, one day at a time. There are no shortcuts or crystal balls. The world works in such a way that new beginnings don’t just come the day that you are born. Learning to walk is a new beginning. Starting kindergarten is a new beginning. First love is a new beginning. Marriage is a new beginning. Having a baby is a new beginning. Divorce is a new beginning. Scott was a wonderful new beginning but now I am, once again, at a new beginning.

Becoming a mama was a new beginning for me, almost 26 years ago. When they moved out, it felt like an ending but it was really just another beginning, a different but still lovely path that has led to one beautiful granddaughter (so far.) I have to learn that my husband physically leaving this earth as another beginning. I didn’t like when my kids moved out on their own. I still miss them when I’m not with them. The same for my husband. I never wanted this particular new beginning. But I had to continue when the boys went out to spread their own wings. I had to learn to look from the place where I was then and begin to take steps toward being a mom from a distance and what that would look like.

Today, I’ve already begun my journey as a widow and I’m still figuring out what that looks like for me. I don’t know exactly where it’s going to take me. I do know that God already knows exactly what that looks like in my future and I wholeheartedly trust that he means it for good and not for failure. That’s where I’m standing right now, looking from the place where I am, knowing that I will be okay. I will have joy. I will have purpose. And I will always have a God who loves me and wants what is best for my life. I’m going to follow that lead.

Rescue Me

Published on by God is in the OutcomeLeave a comment

I’ve been pretty sick this week – cough that sounds like a garbage disposal with a fork stuck in it, voice that sounds like a 90-year-old who smoked filterless Marlboros for 80 of them, and a trash can full of used tissues – and yet still, somehow, I’ve been on a temporary upswing. Last week I had diverticulitis and every day of that I felt as if my head was being held underwater (emotionally) because it is hard being sick alone when your spouse was a dedicated caregiver. Mine was a nurse so, even when I said I was okay, he tended to anything I needed and was extremely compassionate. Now, although I’ve lived through being sick alone before I met him, I really, really miss him being with me when I feel bad.

After getting over the diverticulitis and almost immediately being struck down with some viral nonsense, this week of sickness I’ve somehow managed to be on an emotional upswing. I got it in my head that I needed to do some simplifying of my life, purging things from my house that we never used, tidying up, organizing. It was like “spring cleaning” came early and I was on a rampage to rid this house of extraneous things (none of them things that were specifically his.) And it felt good to be “putting my life back in order.”

If you read my previous chapter then you know that I already anticipated a downswing. I’m here to tell you that when the crash comes, it hits like a head-on Mack truck. This afternoon my brain is telling me that none of this cleaning up even matters. It would matter if he were here, but he is not. He would have appreciated all of this reorganizing and spiffing up of things. He would have enjoyed it just like I have been liking the new feel of it. But he can’t. And the fact that I am “enjoying” it on my own is the opposite of numbing. At times today it has felt like walking through my home when, instead of hard wood flooring and carpet, there is grass filled with sand spurs throughout the whole house. It makes you gasp and then fear taking another step.

There is more I want to do, in various rooms of the house and even outside, to feel like I have accomplished what I have set out to do. It takes little jobs here and there because I often tire or lose the will to finish. Before I sit down to work on my novel again, I feel like I need this in order to achieve clarity of thought, and yet I don’t know whether that is just a pipe dream…a way of working to force something that cannot be forced. I’m a problem solver, by nature, and I haven’t yet discovered an effective way to fix this. I’m doing all of the things I can think of and yet I still see no way “out.” I’m going to hate the way this ended for as long as I live. I’m going to know it never should have been this way. I think I’m always going to want to go back.

I’m thankful to know that both God and my husband are ahead of me and not just behind. God is still here, in the ethereal way that He exists in every breath that I breathe. My husband, well, in a way he is part of every breath, as well, because I can’t breathe without wishing he was standing beside me, laying next to me, holding my hand, touching my face. It’s strange how someone I knew as a physical presence in the world, someone I could touch and laugh with and fall in love with and go on adventures with, could be less present than the God who always stays. Scott’s memories are always with me, the memory of him…but I don’t feel him here. And yet God, whom I have never had the honor of laying eyes on or whose skin I have never touched, Him I can feel. There are still times I can almost feel God as a physical presence wrapped around me and His peace envelopes me like warm water.

Today, as I struggle with another deep dive off the face of the cliff that is grief, the one I climb over and over but inevitably fall from again and again, God is here. He never lets me hit the rocky crags of stone that are at the bottom of the cliff face. He never lets me drown in the tossing and churning waves at the bottom. I fall and I fear the crash. And the fear, the panic of the idea of falling so far, so deeply into the chasm that I cannot climb again, feels like a crash in itself. And it’s not only the fear of hitting the bottom, of drowning in the salty waves. It’s the fear of trying to find the energy to get back up. I dread the climb because it’s exhausting to get up every day, reaching for a higher point than I’ve ever reached in this journey, and knowing that, at any moment, I could slip again. Knowing that, at some point, I will fall again and have to start over yet again. I’m only eight months in and I’m weary of the workout…with forever to go.

I do find that, most days, I don’t seem to fall as far down as I used to fall. I also find that I don’t lay there at that landing for as long before I can stand up, determined to try again. I’m noticing that I’m developing some muscle memory for how to ascend and that some days I remember where the footholds are without having to look as hard for them. The times when it feels like I’m completely starting over are a bit farther between. Today, I’m choosing to be grateful for that.

When I go to bed tonight, I’m going to tell God, again, that I trust Him. I’m going to tell Him that I know that He sees the path I need to take and ask Him to keep directing my steps. I’ve often prayed that He not let me fall back down again but I’m learning that every time He catches me sooner, I trust Him more to do it the next time. Unfortunately, it doesn’t make the fall less scary while I’m in the freefall…but it does make the idea of falling less frightening. I guess it’s like parachuting. There is trepidation but as you check your harness over and over, seeing that everything is safely as it should be, you learn each time you ready yourself to jump that you will be safe when you reach the ground, more and more so each jump that you do, indeed, land safely. And yet as you take that first step off the floor of the plane into open air and gravity, there must still be at least a few moments of terror and adrenaline before the chute actually opens. I’ve landed safely enough times to know I will survive this somehow, but that doesn’t stop the sudden panic when gravity pulls me down at breakneck speed.

Writing typically calms me and so, now, I am on level, if lower, ground. I don’t think I’ll try climbing tonight. I think I’ll go to bed resting, trusting Jesus to keep me safely in the hammock of His arms, and wake tomorrow to try again. I’ll wake, have coffee, and begin one of the projects I have planned for organizing my home and see if I can get a foothold again. Thank you, Father, for rescuing me…again.

Jesus, Help Me…

Published on by God is in the Outcome1 Comment

I feel like I’m dying all over again tonight and I don’t know exactly why. For some reason, a tidal wave has rolled back over me and I feel like I’m back at the beginning, when he died. I can’t catch my breath. I can’t stop crying. I can’t stop pleading, wishing, arguing about why it shouldn’t be this way. I thought I was beginning to mend but I’m in millions and millions of pieces again tonight. Jesus, help me…I’m drowning.

There is a movie about a Tsunami called The Impossible with Naomi Watts. She is with her family on vacation and, when the storm hits, there is a graphic scene of what happens during the giant wave hitting she and her family, separating them and thrashing them about underwater. One thing I remember is that her breast was ripped open by something she was thrown against underwater, part of a tree branch, I think. I almost feel like I can understand that feeling but the ragged branch punctures all the way into the muscle of my heart. Vivid, yes, but I have no other words to describe the agony of this moment.

I knew when I started to feel stronger that this couldn’t last. I have four friends, three very close to my own age, who have lost their husbands, also suddenly and unexpectedly, within the last three years. I know from their experiences that this will come and go, but it catches me by surprise every single time I fall back into the pit, tumbling endlessly down, hitting sharp rocks, getting caught up in choking vines, and hitting my head, knees, jaggedly ripping open the skin of my breast, and all other body parts along the way. It is more painful than I have words to explain. I can literally feel the moment he stopped breathing, the moment they came to tell me he was gone, the moment I laid my head on his still, warm chest but with no heartbeat inside. And my heart screams WHY???

God is still here or my emotional shattering would most definitely become physical. It’s the only explanation for how my skin remains on my body, for why my body pumps blood through my vessels instead of spraying it, pulsing, from every open wound I feel ripped open. He is here holding me together and yet I am in pieces.

There is a song by Barlow Girl, an “old-school” Christian female rock band, that sings “I cry out with no reply and I can’t feel You by my side, so I hold tight to what I know: You’re here…and I’m never alone,” followed by a strong guitar rock solo. That is what I feel right now. All I can do is hold tight to what I know. God is here; I’m never alone.

Abba God, please show me Your presence wrapped around me in a tangible way right now. I don’t know how else to survive this. I still have a family who needs me and I need to land on my feet. I have to keep my head above this torrential flood of salty tears. Hear me. In the name of Jesus, I’m asking You, please, raise me to where I can stand again. Amen.

The Stuff of Nightmares

Published on by God is in the OutcomeLeave a comment

I was thinking about how I’ve told you that I “haven’t dreamed about him yet.”

That’s not entirely true, and yet it is. I want desperately to have a dream where he is himself, normal, healthy, happy. What I have are nightmares about his last night on earth, and those two things are nothing alike.

Trauma is a difficult mountain to climb over and leave behind you. I know. I’ve forged my way over such mountains more than once. This one pretty much takes the cake, despite the immensity of past traumas. I’m really struggling to even get started. You know when you have so many things to do that you don’t even know which task to start just to begin…so maybe you procrastinate because it all just seems overwhelming? That’s where I’m standing: in the overwhelm.

I had started therapy the end of May but there were soooo many glitches. The therapist lost my intake visit notes and had to redo my intake (which meant having to dive back into telling/reliving the night of terrors all over again, out loud), then the next visit they had changed software and she had to do the intake and create a care plan yet again because their old system would not update the new one. Then they had problems getting me back in for another appointment for almost a month…and so I quit, feeling even more defeated.

Starting over with a new program was so daunting, to have to go through all of this over again and not know if I’d ever get to the point that something felt helpful. But I have started over. I really like my current therapist and, sadly, she lost her son last September, just one year ago now, so it feels like she really and truly “gets it”. Immense grief is not a stranger to her. She has tackled seemingly insurmountable grief and appears to be flourishing in the aftermath. This therapy program is also specifically faith-based, so it aligns with my methods of coping and healing.

The nightmares start my days off on very rocky footing. I can see the way he looked at me the very last time his eyes were open, panic-stricken with asphyxiation, and I can feel the powerlessness of that moment with surprising reality. And the guilt. The guilt of having been a nurse for almost thirty years and having worked many, many codes, but being unable to do anything to help him because I was on “someone else’s playing field” and also because it’s different when it is your person, your spouse, your soulmate. My mind was an especially chaotic brand of turmoil because part of my own life was slipping away right before my eyes. And I couldn’t stop it. I wish I had put my hands on his face one more time and said, “I’m here. I love you, baby.” I wish I could have said “We’ve got this” one more time…but we didn’t. We didn’t have this at all that night. And we had nothing else ever again.

There’s a finality that fails to settle into your brain when life ends suddenly. I still, almost five months later, cannot wrap my head around it. I cannot be a widow. Surely he’ll come home carrying his backpack and his camo, insulated lunchbox and wrap his arms around me. Surely.

Those thoughts just add to the panic as I tell myself, try to remind myself, that this is all real. I’m forced to technically believe that as I take over all of the responsibilities that Scott gladly maintained as my husband. Yet I struggle daily to accept it.

They tell me I’m suffering from C-PTSD (complicated post-traumatic stress disorder) and panic attacks, major depressive disorder, complicated traumatic grief, and generalized & social anxiety. Quite a mouthful of diagnoses for just one person. They are pieces that feel as if someone else mixed the garden flowers and the country roadside fruit stand puzzles together but is expecting me to figure out how to make them all one picture. As I try to sort the pieces, none of them make sense going together. This is not the puzzle I bought at the store but it’s non-refundable.

Still, being in therapy is a milestone on the journey. My therapist said that one of the reasons I’m still feeling like I am at Day One on my journey is because I am consumed with anger. She says getting the anger under control is the key to moving on to the next step, although they come in no particular order. If I ask God to help me tackle that stage then I will eventually move through coming to terms with the rest before finally truly reaching the acceptance phase. The thing is, anger isn’t living here alone. Three more of the grief stages are piled in here with it like clowns in a tiny car. Denial, bargaining and depression cohabitate with guilt and anxiety inside this damaged vessel and they are not playing nice. These aren’t your typical, happy circus clowns either; they all resemble the Stephen King or Universal Studios Halloween Horror Nights versions.

So, anger…I have to tackle anger but without letting it OUT on anyone around me. Should be interesting. My daily devotionals, quiet time, and web-ex classes I take through the counseling portal all revolve around anger for the foreseeable future. God is capable of taking hold of it but only if I hand it over and, as much as I want to, I don’t know if I can get my current grip, which is so tight that it resembles a toddler holding onto a toy they need to share, to release. There’s another prayer to add to my exhaustive list.

I am determined to get better. I am determined to heal. I am determined to let God do His thing in me. May the path become smoother as I figure it all out. No matter how long it takes, God is in the outcome.

The Breath of Life

Published on by God is in the OutcomeLeave a comment

God fixed my broken pieces, but He did it by way of a soulmate he grew, hand-plucked and then planted right into my life. Now my pieces are struggling to remain attached to each other.

My mind keeps going back, over and over and over, to the moment the doctors walked down the hallway toward me, the disastrous results of my husband’s code blue evident on their faces. I cannot stop feeling what it was like to pleadingly and raggedly cry out “No…NO…NOOOOOOO!!!” and then slide down the wall in sobs as my legs failed to hold my weight.

I think I “knew” when I left his room. I’m a nurse. Not only was he not breathing but he had no airway. In the back of my mind I knew the statistics. I knew the potential and likely outcomes at that point. I knew my likelihood of loss. But I was praying for a miracle. I was holding onto hope like I was falling off of a cliff where the raveling thread of someone’s threadbare sweater was all I had to hold onto. I spent about an hour, give or take, grasping that tiny thread so tightly that it wore shreds into the skin of my palms. Or maybe that was my fingernails.

And then I drowned.

I could feel myself suffocating as I slid down the wall. As one doctor said “go get her a chair” and then told me to tuck my head and breathe. I had been holding onto the ICU visitor phone asking if my husband had been brought over yet when I heard them coming down the hall toward me and I remember seeing the handset hanging from the cord, the cord dangling, as I sat in a crumpled heap on the cold hallway floor. I remember men who had walked toward me, four abreast, all of their faces dour, the one clearly intending to deliver the news just a step ahead of the rest searching my face as he prepared to end my life as I knew it. And I could not breathe. I don’t even know how the cries for mercy made their way out except for the breath of wind that caught in my throat as they approached.

My chest clenched. I don’t know what happened to my heart but if you told me it had stopped beating right then, it would not surprise me. I wonder if that’s what cardiac arrest feels like. I wonder if my husband felt like that, too.

I read a post the other day where a widow said that her husband had “died” once before, during a heart attack, for several minutes while they resuscitated him. When he “died permanently” several years later he wasn’t afraid to go. He had told her that during that first time, he knew exactly when he left his body because the pain stopped entirely, there was suddenly no fear and a sensation he could only define as “euphoria and complete peace” overcame him. He thought to himself that he was leaving this earth and he was okay with it. He didn’t bewail the fact that he was leaving others behind but just knew he was safe and that it was okay. He was okay and they’d all be okay.

I hope that’s what it was like for my husband. Of all of the people I know in this world, my husband 100% deserved peace. He spent many years of his life not having it.

There’s a part of me that wishes he’d know how much we miss him, how much we mourn his loss, but not when I think of what that would put him through. So I guess I just want him to know how much and how completely he was loved and how important he was to people here. I hope he knows now that he made a difference, left a legacy of goodness, kindness, compassion, empathy. And I wish I could see his sweet face when he realized that. I loved the way his face lit up because someone really saw him. When someone saw him as the person I already knew he was.

We take breathing for granted. Air goes in; air comes out. We don’t even think about it most of the time. I’ve had many days since that night, well, that early, early morning, where I had to force myself to inhale. It truly felt like my body wouldn’t do it automatically. Or to exhale just so new air could come in. I remember thinking, theoretically, if I didn’t breathe right now, how long would it take? It felt unnatural to just breathe. Like it feels unnatural to be here when he isn’t.

I believe my heart shattered into a million, zillion pieces that day so how can it still feel like my heart is breaking? Or does it heal a little and the scabs then get ripped open every time a thought crosses my mind, those hundreds of times a day. That cannot be good for healing but I don’t know how to stop it because I never know from which direction the assault will come barreling toward me. It’s completely indiscernible until it hits, until my heart plummets to the ground again beneath blood and ash.

Four of “Lillian’s fish” (our granddaughter’s) died from lack of oxygen due to the hurricane this past week; I had no generator to power the aerator. Scott named them Lillian’s fish (even though we’d had them since early 2022) because she loved watching them from soon after she arrived on the outside of her mommy. We subsequently picked out even more colorful fish to entertain her. The fact that some of those fish died, ones he wanted her to have (albeit at our house because he thought that would make her ask to come visit more) has made me cry more than once. Going to the store where we bought them to get her a few more tomorrow will make me cry again…hopefully I can hold it until I get to the car. I’d rather lose my bladder in public than fall apart. People “get” medical issues (like whatever they might assume would cause me to urinate on myself) better than they “get” grief. Grief makes people uncomfortable.

But now, when I say “Lillian, where’s PopPop?” (she is eight months old now,) she turns her head and looks to his picture. That made me cry the first time but kind of makes my heart smile now. I tell her “PopPop loves you, Lillian. That’s Lillian’s PopPop.” She studies his photograph in a way that makes it look as if he is familiar even though she was only just over four months old when he died. It’s like she is trying to remember where she saw him and can’t quite place it, her face so serious and contemplative. It’s a poignant experience because she usually gets distracted so easily but she stares at his photo for a long time without looking away.

And so I breathe. There are moments sprinkled, however sparsely right now, throughout my days that cause me to breathe.

According to my research, Ruach is the word spoken three times in Hebrew scripture for the breath of God. It’s not described so much as a physical being or an entity but as God’s essence that creates and sustains life. Sometimes it is translated as “Spirit of God”, the Holy Spirit.

However, the actual Hebrew term for “spirit,” ruah (notice the similarity) is used 389 times in the Hebrew Scriptures. Ruah is translated using three different words: wind, breath, and spirit. Context decides the translation, but in Ezekiel it is often used with dual context, like breath and spirit are the same thing.

So the Holy Spirit IS breath. Not all breathe by nature of the Spirit’s breath, although all are invited to, but when my natural breath fails to sustain me, the Holy Spirit can. Yes, at some point my body will fail and the Holy Spirit will leave my earthly domain as my own spirit exits, but when my mind no longer wants to breathe, I have a backup generator as a Christian. I didn’t have to go to Lowe’s and pay a hefty sum for this one as it was bequeathed to me and all I had to do was accept the gift.

If you’ve ever been through a high-force hurricane, you know the value of a good generator. And, oh, have I been living in the eye of a hurricane these past almost-four-months. I’ve been living on the strength of my generator ever since the power went out in May.

I’m just going to keep filling up that generator with fuel because without it my life is so very much more uncomfortable…which doesn’t even seem possible but, alas, it is true. It turns out that the Word and prayer are the only fuel it accepts. The dual power generator I have at home (which spontaneously elected not to function following hurricane Idalia this past week) works on gasoline or propane. They’re a lot more expensive.

As you read this, I hope this week finds you healthy. If you are grieving, I hope you have the generator of breath. If you don’t, I know where you can find one for free.

Journeying to Self-Discovery: Being happy even if others try to prevent it…

Published on by God is in the Outcome1 Comment

Oh, to understand the purpose of some of the trappings of this life. This entire year, thus far, has been a whirlwind of chaotic interruptions to what I only want to become a peaceful existence. One thing I have begun to realize, through all of the disaster-overthrown days that seem to be plaguing me is this cliche’-type platitude that is suddenly making the sense of an unexpected epiphany: You can please some of the people some of the time, all of the people, some of the time, some of the people all of the time BUT you cannot please all of the people all of the time. Right now, I want to be pleased with me, whether everyone else is or not.  Period.

I have always been a “people pleaser”. When I was married (the first time), I didn’t like to make waves. I wanted peace, even if that peace was at my expense all of the time. If it meant that, in order to keep harmony, I had to ignore things that hurt me and pretend I was happy, that is exactly what I did. I didn’t want my children to live through unhappiness and strife. I didn’t want them to have to survive a divorce. I didn’t want to have to survive a divorce. I kept the peace by backing down. One day, I learned that my kids were surviving a terrible marriage and that two peaceful homes, albeit separate, rather than one home with quiet tension that could be cut with a cheese knife might be less stressful for them.

As I went through my divorce, I wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible so that the kids didn’t have to deal with the fighting. I didn’t want to fight. I hate confrontation. So I did not fight. I gave into everything except the custody of my children and he could have anything else in the world that he wanted. That included the fact that he paid no child support and got the land we owned that was already bought and paid for while I received the mortgaged house. I decided that I could raise my children myself and that one day they’ll know I worked hard to be able to provide for them. I know there are those of you who will feel like this was the cowardly thing to do and that I should have fought more my to “make him pay, “ monetarily. I still believe that the kids would have suffered more if during the onslaught. He’s happy, they’re happy and I am capable of being what they need when they’re with me (or even when they aren’t), even if it doesn’t mean that we’re rich or affluent. I still do not regret that decision because I truly feel that they would have been hurt even more for my pushing these issues, no matter how much I tried to shield them from harm.

Today, I am realizing that I no longer want to please everyone. I mean, don’t get me wrong…it does bother me when people don’t like me. That being said, I have learned to look at WHY they don’t like me and ask myself “Is that something that I am willing to change about myself? Do I like that part of who I am or is that a fault I need to work on?” When my answer is that I am perfectly happy with whatever behavior or attitude or verbal exchange that seems to have made the person in question unhappy with me, I can say…”This is who I am and I’m content with that. What they don’t like is their problem; it is not mine.” This is not something that I have ever found myself able to do before. It actually surprises me to have this thought process. What surprises me even more is that being able to do this is not out of bitterness. I don’t have an attitude that says “Whatever. I’m sick of trying to please people. Screw ’em.” Rather, I have a disposition that says “I am going to learn to be happy with who I am. If I am proud of who I am and how I react to circumstances, I am going to be happy with me and others, if they are worthy of my time, will be happy with me as well.” Do you know why this is so? Because there are people who will be jealous or have different opinions or will have been raised differently with converse morals to those in which I was raised. Those people may not agree with me all of the time. They may not even like me. I am okay with that. I am going to strive to be happy with me.

Now, I still regularly make mistakes with which I am NOT happy. I react too quickly to a stressful situation, with my children, for example, and allow anger to overcome good judgement. With my current outlook, however, I find myself quickly assessing my behavior and, when I decide I do not like my own response to the situation, I am able to expediently stop, take a deep breath, and then readdress with a more calm and worthy approach. Being able to redirect appropriately may mean walking away from the scene, rethinking my plan of action for a few minutes before returning and THEN starting over, but I am able to find the person I meant to be in the first place and the one I hope I am the next time something similar occurs. I am also quick to apologize to my children or others involved and let them know that I am not pleased with how I handled the event as well as that I will attempt to learn from it.

Okay, so, in deciding not to please everyone (some of them not even some of the time), I am seriously analyzing who it is that I want to be and how I want others to see me. When I say that latter piece, I actually do not mean that I want them to see me as someone they like. I mean that I am trying to be objective about how I appear on the outside (not physically but just as a human being, in general) and whether I’m happy with that. When someone else looks at me, am I able to be “proud” of the person that they see (whether they like what they see or not…this may be sounding confusing…)? What kind of legacy am I leaving, if you will. I am someone who loves her children with every fiber of her being. However, when I’m in the grocery store and they are all three grating on my nerves, for whatever reason or whichever antics they are displaying, I am likely to address them by saying “HEY! I’M GONNA BEAT YOU IF YOU DON’T STOP ACTING LIKE A BUNCH OF HOOLIGANS! CHILL OUT!!!” Now, some people may hear that and (self-righteously) think, “Man, she’s a mean mom.” or “Oh, my! Listen to how she just yelled at those poor little dears.” Anyone who actually has children, loves them and occasionally loses it (I believe that’s most of us.) will hear it, perhaps giggle, think to themselves, “Yep, been there, done that. She’s having a rough day.” and maybe even think “Way to get them back in line, lady.” If they DON’T feel that way, I still know this: my children know they are not going to actually be beaten, they know that this means I am nearing the end of my rope with them, however, and they also know, based on all of my OTHER motherhood behavior which strangers or friends may not always see, that I LOVE THEM and would do CATEGORICALLY ANYTHING for them. They know I have sat up all night for weeks at a time by a hospital bed, never leaving except to pee (briefly and with significant stress and bladder pressure to ensure it remained brief), as one or another of them was sick. They know that I have hostessed slumber parties with a houseful of ten children and made pounds of pancakes, created and played tons of games, allowed silly messes just because it was fun and found ways to make sure every kid had a good time. They know I have let them sleep in my bed and have picked them up in the middle of the night from someone else’s house, even after I had been asleep, because they were afraid or upset and wanted to come home. My children know the sacrifices I make for them and the things that I do just because I love them more than my own life, itself. If they know this, why on earth would I care what anyone else thinks about this?

At work, I am good at what I do. Occasionally someone does not like the way I handle a situation because it is not the way THEY would maneuver given the same occurrence. I think about how I dealt with it, whether there is a reason that it is not the “right” way to go about it or if a difference of opinion is the real problem. I am using that methodology to decide how to go on from there. Most of the time I am happy with the way I perform my career objectives and have no desire to worry another minute about what that other person’s “problem is”.  I am happy just feeling like I am doing the right thing.   If I decide that they have a point and I have to agree with their viewpoint, I am not reluctant to change tack.

Are you at this point yet? People have told me before to worry about me, be happy with who I am and let others worry about whether they’re happy or not. I am responsible only for my happiness and not that of anyone else (except my children, of course). Until I reached this latest, slow-dawning epiphany, however, I was not ready to understand what I had been advised. If you’re not here, you will be saying “easier said than done…you’re not like me”, in your head. I’m here to tell you that, be it age or wisdom, you will get here one day. If you are here, you understand what I am saying. Pipe up and let me know where you are in your own journey.

Nothing to Fear but Fear Itself

Published on by God is in the OutcomeLeave a comment

Worry.  Apprehension.  Uncertainty.  Vexation.  Disquiet.  Anxiety.  Doubt.

So many words to describe such a hazardous, emotional behavior.  I have always thought myself to be an optimist but have awakened to a rude new discovery.  Somewhere along the crooked path that has become the road map of my life, I have pulled a light-blocking curtain between myself and positivism.  My rose-colored glasses have become scratched and somehow their shape is warped, seeming to improperly fit my face.  Confidence, exhilaration, self-assurance and even sanguineness all seem to have taken flight as well.  These words, these “things” that once exuded from my very pores and encompassed my whole outlook on life and which also defined whom I was to others, now appear to have waltzed off in some lively dance toward another banquet affair that must have seemed more appealing to attend than my own.  My own soiree has somehow become less enticing to such honored guests.

Now, as I sit like a wallflower lamenting my misfortune at having been the less-appealing option for the ever-sought “popular crowd” of emotions and behavioral accoutrements, I am at a loss for methods of captivating their attentions once again.  How can I lure these seemingly elusive characters back to my daily demeanor?  I brawl daily with the darkened antonyms of my desired disposition, thrashing and deflecting in a fruitless skirmish against intangible adversaries.  I do not know how to struggle against the unseen or to traverse a path around their camp in order to reach my own prior enchanting encampment.  The glow of twinkling lights that identify the convivial mindset to whence I wish to return seem to tease and taunt me from the distance at times, but only when I even become aware that they have been replaced by sinister counterparts.

The metamorphosis of my overall perspective has been so subtle over many years that I scarcely noticed the change.  At one time people would have described me as buoyant, lighthearted, cheerful, spirited and positive.  I most always had a contagious smile and reflected a persona that was repeatedly referred to as “bubbly”.  With these personality traits also came encouragement and reinforcement for others who struggled against despair or even just a plateau of uniformity in their own lives.  I wanted others to be capable of experiencing the joie de vivre that I enjoyed.  I am perplexed by the realization that I am no longer that individual and by the oddly imperceptible journey that has led me here.

Yesterday was one of the days that allowed, nay, demanded that I recognize the transformation of my identity.  Having received news to be thankful for, the fact that I had fretted needlessly over these results for days struck me with the force of a lightning strike.  Minutes, hours, days spent imagining what would need to be done had the outcome been negative.  Everyone battles anxiety at times yet my “old self” would have said “don’t borrow trouble” or “no sense in worrying over what may not be”.  The concerns would have been floating around behind my thoughts rather than taking them over with the rumble of a volcano about to erupt.

Today I am searching for an alley in which to duck until the villainous qualities have dashed past my hiding place and lost me in their pursuit.  I want to stand quietly there until they are out of sight and then scamper quickly in the opposite direction towards my old companions whose company was always substantially more affable and satisfying.  Enchantment, vivacity, mirth and hopefulness must be just down the road, if only I can see the horizon on which the sun is setting so as to get my bearings…

Trudging backwards…wish me luck.