Today dawned early, as is typical for me these days. That could have something to do with the sun coming up around 5:30 or so this time of year…or maybe it is just the stress that seems to have planted itself square on my chest these days – making it difficult to breath at points.
Then there is the constant pain that has ensconced itself just below that stress. Right in the heart chakra region is lodged pain that is fierce, sometimes making itself forcibly known like a roaring lion. The pain of a broken heart from a broken life…from a broken soul…feels like a jagged piece of bone that is tearing away at my flesh – from the inside trying to make its way out.
The pain that loves to creep up at the most unexpected times – bringing with it tears. Sometimes those tears turn into wails and deep gut wrenching cries of mourning…sometimes those tears just turn into quiet sobs that beg to find a way out of their cage.
The pain – oh God the pain of allowing myself to feel the grief, the depth of grief of the human experience…how does one describe something like this? If you have never allowed yourself to feel this pain – if you have always suppressed it, tried to push it out with other “medications”, but inadvertently have only pushed it down deeper into your soul – how does one describe this pain? Sometimes the only relief from this pain is the deep crying – helping to dislodge some of the more than moderate uncomfortableness that resides in that region. At least until the grief starts to build once again…the bubbling up from the depths of my soul.
The bubbling that began the end of last summer – sparked by the long, spiky fingers of judgement by friends…of being cast out from a family…of starting the process of losing the person I thought I was, of the faith I thought I had and of a God I thought I knew.
Sometimes, all I can do is sit, knees pulled to chest, arms encircling knees…rocking myself back and forth, allowing the memories of my life to flood in – one by one saying, “hello you are welcome here as part of me” yet at the same time saying ,”good-bye – you no longer define me”.
I am not depressed…even though the external indicators might point to that. I know that with grief, depression can also come. Yet, with depression there is a sense of hopelessness and pointlessness. I do not feel this. Yes I feel overwhelming sorrow and pain; however, I feel comfortable knowing this is part of the process…this is part of my journey. Others might not understand it, and there is no need for them to. They might not feel comfortable with me or the process…and that is okay, for I am.
I have struggled over the past week in my attempt to continue to allow the God I know to be lost to me. I am typically the eternal optimist…the cheerleader of others and myself – and probably a bit of the reason I succeed in fitness. Yet, this week I have had to purposefully allow myself to intentionally not feel that hope…to allow myself to look at the world without that hope there.
In doing so, I have had to give myself permission to cry – whenever and wherever. To not stuff my feelings at any given moment, to not put on the facade that I’m okay when I am not. I would love to say that I have gotten this 100% correct…but like anything it is a process of letting go of my inhibitions…of letting go of those voices that yell at me saying, “Don’t you care what others will think of you?”
Yet, I did take some strides forward this past week in doing this. At a women’s gathering I had the pleasure of coordinating and running – there were sweet tears shared between friends that brought me to my knees with tears running out of my own eyes. And at church on Sunday, where I have struggled the past couple of weeks trying to “hang on” to my emotions…I finally felt the release I so desperately needed after an extremely painful, poignant-on-so-many-levels message. Where at the end of the message, the pastor gave us permission to respond how we needed to respond. By him giving me permission, I gave myself permission. The most beautiful thing is that I discovered my friends could handle me. Not only that, they embraced me with their arms and their spirits…giving me more permission to let it out…as much as would come at that time. It felt so good to have that emotional and physical connection – to be held in the midst of my pain – wouldn’t you know it brings tears to my eyes now?
So much has happened since I began this blog as a way to document my journey, as a way to speak my mind and regain my voice. I have grown by leaps and bounds. I started at a place where others would cry for me and I would try to shut them down. I wouldn’t allow anyone to speak of the talents they saw in me. I was a touch bit bitter and judgmental myself…self-righteous I would even venture to say.
I have realized I am a Jonah, running away from problems; a Peter in speaking my mind too quickly while being full of passion that can easily get distracted; a Moses that has been called to speak but that makes excuses as to why I cannot.
I have gone from being a firm believer that women had no place in the pulpit to believing that God does call women to this position…to believing that what I had been taught in general about the bible and the Christian faith could never be questioned…to questioning and doubting all of it. From living on the right side of everything to living in the middle.
I have gone from being maybe a thirteen year old in emotional maturity to hopefully being closer to my true physical age…from being blind and deceived – to continually feeling another layer of scales and deception to fall from my eyes. I have learned to put away my childish ways, the childish voices that protected me for a time…and to challenge my ANTS (automatic negative thoughts), to rephrase them in order to Practice Joy.
I have gone from hearing God almost constantly as He resonated His words in my soul…to being a floundering, wandering nomad begging to once again hear His sweet voice.
I am learning how to integrate my grief into my daily life, to integrate my pain into my joy, to integrate my endings into new beginnings.
Which leads me back to today, and where I am at as of this moment as I sit here and write. I feel caught in the dichotomy of the human experience that is life. I feel caught between the closing of of my old life while saying hello to a new beginning of this new life. Between the grief and the joy – between the full range of emotions that can take me either way at any moment.
For today, today is what would have been my 10 year anniversary. Instead, a year ago today I irrevocably changed the direction of my life, that of my children and of my husband at the time. A year ago today my husband was served with my decision that I was done with that old life.
How is it that as a human we can feel such deep pain and sorrow for the loss of one thing, yet feel such release and freedom at the same time? Why is it that in order to feel the joy in this life, we must first walk through the pain and grief? That in order to get to the other side of the rainbow we first have to trek through the trenches of mud and rain? That in order to get to the resurrection – we must first go through the insurrection of our own soul?
