Life change is never easy, and mine is no exception. The support of my family, friends, and therapist has been an essential source of strength for me. Some have seemed surprised by what is going on. They say “But you seemed so happy out there in the country with your gardens and bees. You appeared to be living your dream. What happened?”
I have been trying to find an answer to this question for a while now. If it was bad enough to walk away, why on earth did I come across as so blissful so much of the time? Was I lying, or was I making the best of what I had taken on? Is there a difference? Should I feel remorse for making it all seem so ideal, when it wasn’t? There is no simple way to tackle this conundrum. I wish there was. I have been back and forth with myself about what exactly was going on inside of me during these past few years, and today I had a memory that has helped give me some perspective.
As a child I loved to play Cinderella. Now most young girls, when doing this, put on a fancy gown and a tiara, get in an imaginary splendid coach, and ride to the ball. Not me. No, I preferred to dress in rags and an apron, get on my hands and knees, and scrub the deck in my backyard. I’m not even kidding. It’s my mom’s favorite story to tell; me out there in the South Florida heat, in a tattered dress saying, “Cinderella, scrub the deck! Cinderella, you missed a spot!”
Did it occur to me that this was strange? Did I ever conjure up a fairy godmother to save me? Sadly, no. But I was very content out there, doing what I was doing. For some reason, hardship was comfortable, and in a childlike way, it was fun.
Fast forward 20 something years. I am out in the middle of nowhere, and I am lonely as hell. There is much work to be done, for the life that I have taken on is one of less convenience, and more hands on tasks.
There were many things about that time that I hated. There were many times that I longed to go back to my house in town, but that was not an option. I had to find a way to get through it, and somehow, be happy.
So I brought out that girl in the rags, I put her to work, and she loved it. She hung the laundry cheerfully, singing while she pinned the diapers and shirts to the line. She baked the bread for the family, taking time to roll each loaf in oats so that it came out speckled with goodness. She weeded the garden, she swept the floors. She had no choice, but she was going to make the best of it. When it came right down to it, she was not appreciated. The work was expected. There was no way out for her. She was truly Cinderella.
In the fairy tale, her fairy godmother comes to her and grants her a beautiful dress, and turns a pumpkin into a coach for her to take to the ball. But I wonder, how easy could it have been for her to step out of her rags, and into her new, shining gown? Don’t you think that she might have been afraid to let her family down? The ones that counted on her to do those things? Don’t you think in a way, she had grown comfortable in knowing what was expected of her? Her role was secure. This new life that presented itself, wouldn’t it have seemed...well, a bit scary? Even crazy?
I think it shows great bravery and strength that she donned that gown, got in the coach, and went to the ball. And even when it all fell apart at midnight, and she found herself once again in rags, she still knew that night had shown her who she really was. She didn’t just resign it as a pipe dream, and fate did indeed find her again.
In the end, they lived happily ever after. But I’d like to change that to SHE lived happily ever after. For she had found herself. She had made the leap, and was Cinderella no more.
Maybe the love of Prince Charming was what saved her, or maybe, just maybe, it was the love of herself.
There were many ways in my old life that I was comfortable, and there were some ways that I was able to be happy. I want to believe my fairy godmother when she tells me that there is more, and to take off my rags. I want to go to the ball.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
The Unlikely Face of God
My whole life I thought I knew God. Growing up in the church, God was a part of daily life and I strived to know him. Something was always missing, though. I could not complete the puzzle.
Strangely enough, I met God this summer in the forests of Alaska. He whispered to me during our voyage Northward, his voice coming off the tops of the Rocky Mountains, and through the radio with the songs that were played. It was eerie, but I knew it was him, finally.
Once we arrived, he reached out and touched me there among the trees, as the cold creek water rushed by. The labyrinth, made of river stones, carried me round and round as we held hands and talked, and he told me he would show me the way, to just have faith.
Why did I have to travel so far? Why this year had to be so tumultuous, agonizing, beautiful and strange to finally reach him I can only guess.
I had been searching my whole life for this connection. I had sought it in churches, in bars, in the arms of men, in friends, in music, in gardens, in the kitchen. I had tried to bake him into bread, grow him on the vine, hold him in relationships, birth him with my children. Many of these things gave me a taste, and brought me close, but still God remained elusive. Only after my incredible journey, when I was about as broken and hopeless as a person could be, did I finally reach him. And that’s the way that it happens, isn’t it? God can only break through when our pride and are defenses are gone, and mine were annihilated.
So 2010 became the year that I finally met God. What would have happened if the last 6 years did not occur the way they did? Would I still have met him? Sooner or later, I think that I would have, but I’ll never know for sure. This path became mine to follow when I chose it. It was the way that I was to learn the lessons I am learning. Now, another path has presented itself, and I have chosen to take it, trusting my voice, trusting my God.
Fate and choice go hand in hand. For as much as God is in control, we are responsible for the choices we make. We design our own fate. We are responsible for our destiny. By listening for God, knowing his voice and knowing ourselves, we can make good choices in life. We can follow our true path.
I am far from perfect, and I know there are some places on this path where I will misstep. The good news is that God doesn’t expect perfection from me, only honesty. If I can learn to say when I am scared, when I am angry, when I need help, when I am doubtful, that is truly doing the best that I can. God has made me strong. I have made myself strong. You see, God and I are not 2 separate entities. He has been with me, and in me my whole life. I am not claiming to be God, but rather saying that he is a part of me, and that is why I can trust myself. That is why that voice inside is so true, and if I can learn to follow it, it will never steer me wrong.
Strangely enough, I met God this summer in the forests of Alaska. He whispered to me during our voyage Northward, his voice coming off the tops of the Rocky Mountains, and through the radio with the songs that were played. It was eerie, but I knew it was him, finally.
Once we arrived, he reached out and touched me there among the trees, as the cold creek water rushed by. The labyrinth, made of river stones, carried me round and round as we held hands and talked, and he told me he would show me the way, to just have faith.
Why did I have to travel so far? Why this year had to be so tumultuous, agonizing, beautiful and strange to finally reach him I can only guess.
I had been searching my whole life for this connection. I had sought it in churches, in bars, in the arms of men, in friends, in music, in gardens, in the kitchen. I had tried to bake him into bread, grow him on the vine, hold him in relationships, birth him with my children. Many of these things gave me a taste, and brought me close, but still God remained elusive. Only after my incredible journey, when I was about as broken and hopeless as a person could be, did I finally reach him. And that’s the way that it happens, isn’t it? God can only break through when our pride and are defenses are gone, and mine were annihilated.
So 2010 became the year that I finally met God. What would have happened if the last 6 years did not occur the way they did? Would I still have met him? Sooner or later, I think that I would have, but I’ll never know for sure. This path became mine to follow when I chose it. It was the way that I was to learn the lessons I am learning. Now, another path has presented itself, and I have chosen to take it, trusting my voice, trusting my God.
Fate and choice go hand in hand. For as much as God is in control, we are responsible for the choices we make. We design our own fate. We are responsible for our destiny. By listening for God, knowing his voice and knowing ourselves, we can make good choices in life. We can follow our true path.
I am far from perfect, and I know there are some places on this path where I will misstep. The good news is that God doesn’t expect perfection from me, only honesty. If I can learn to say when I am scared, when I am angry, when I need help, when I am doubtful, that is truly doing the best that I can. God has made me strong. I have made myself strong. You see, God and I are not 2 separate entities. He has been with me, and in me my whole life. I am not claiming to be God, but rather saying that he is a part of me, and that is why I can trust myself. That is why that voice inside is so true, and if I can learn to follow it, it will never steer me wrong.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Progress
Finding myself isn't what I thought it would be. I know I must have patience, and part of the process is to learn to be alone and quiet. I somehow have to move past this phase of "stuck" where I have been the past week.
My week at Onsite was full of self discovery. I explored such deep areas of myself that I had buried for so long, that I didn't even know what they looked like anymore. After uncovering them, which was a necessary part of this whole thing, I now have to deal with them for the first time. My old methods have been proven wrong. I am at a loss.
Progress is being made, I know. Every day that I can identify how I truly feel is a day that I move forward one more step. Today I feel alone and lost. I haven't even gotten out of my pajamas.
I know there will be ups and downs. The high that Onsite brought me was one of revelation. Now, this low is one of looking up at the steepness of the mountain I am about to climb, and wondering how the hell I will make it to the top.
At the top I will find the real me, the full me. I can't wait to meet her, can't wait to BE her. But before I can start climbing, I need to get some strength from above, and get dressed.
Here's to this week. To progress.
My week at Onsite was full of self discovery. I explored such deep areas of myself that I had buried for so long, that I didn't even know what they looked like anymore. After uncovering them, which was a necessary part of this whole thing, I now have to deal with them for the first time. My old methods have been proven wrong. I am at a loss.
Progress is being made, I know. Every day that I can identify how I truly feel is a day that I move forward one more step. Today I feel alone and lost. I haven't even gotten out of my pajamas.
I know there will be ups and downs. The high that Onsite brought me was one of revelation. Now, this low is one of looking up at the steepness of the mountain I am about to climb, and wondering how the hell I will make it to the top.
At the top I will find the real me, the full me. I can't wait to meet her, can't wait to BE her. But before I can start climbing, I need to get some strength from above, and get dressed.
Here's to this week. To progress.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
The beginning
This first post is hard. How do I explain all that I have been through in the past 4 months? We took our journey of a lifetime, and came home a broken family. The choice was not easy, and I'll refrain from going into all the details. Some things are best left unsaid. But now I am here grappling with the possibility that we will never be whole again. If nothing else, we will never be the same people that set out for Alaska this past May. Some days, I'm not even sure what to hope for. All I can do is ask God to point me towards ultimate truth.
Truth is something I have always sought, but at the same time, I have always had a hard time speaking my own personal truths. If I fear that it will hurt someone, or cause a confrontation, I often in the past have pushed it under. This has been my own folly. I know that now. On some level I have always known it.
Even tonight, I wonder if posting this blog is the right thing to do. How much of my story is appropriate to share? I'm not sure. All I know is that it seems that many others are having the same struggle. Many families are falling apart at the seams, and so many of us are afraid to speak, afraid that our own dysfunction might bring shame upon the people that we love.
In my journal I wrote an entry a few months ago. At the end I said "Shame has no part in my life anymore, I have banished it." If this is, and can be true, then my story MUST be told. It must be told in love. At least the part where I broke free of the cycle, and moved out into an uncertain world. Some might say that it's a "grass is greener" scenario. But really, when I looked across that fence, I saw no green grass. I saw a lonely wasteland. I saw discomfort and pain. I didn't want to cross over, but something inside me told me that if I didn't, this side of the fence would open up and swallow me and my whole family. I knew this to be that still small voice. The one that I was trying so hard to ignore for so long.
So here I am, moved back in with my parents. Sharing custody of my kids with the man I married almost 5 years ago, and trying to figure out how we can save first ourselves, and then hopefully our union.
For me, speaking out is a double edged sword. On the one hand, I don't want to pretend like everything is okay, and life is proceeding as normal. On the other hand, I don't want to be accused of stirring up drama, or trying to gain attention. This is simply my truth. Finally. I am fucked up. My marriage is in serious trouble. We are both taking all possible actions to become the ones that we should have been able to be from the beginning. Maybe that will be enough to save it, but maybe not. Either way, I hope that we can come to a place where we can say it was all worth it. That we did the best we could, and are better people because of it, better parents, and better to ourselves. That is my hope.
To any of you out there who share this struggle, know this; you are not alone. You are stronger than you think, and the truth, especially uncomfortable truth, WILL set you free.
Truth is something I have always sought, but at the same time, I have always had a hard time speaking my own personal truths. If I fear that it will hurt someone, or cause a confrontation, I often in the past have pushed it under. This has been my own folly. I know that now. On some level I have always known it.
Even tonight, I wonder if posting this blog is the right thing to do. How much of my story is appropriate to share? I'm not sure. All I know is that it seems that many others are having the same struggle. Many families are falling apart at the seams, and so many of us are afraid to speak, afraid that our own dysfunction might bring shame upon the people that we love.
In my journal I wrote an entry a few months ago. At the end I said "Shame has no part in my life anymore, I have banished it." If this is, and can be true, then my story MUST be told. It must be told in love. At least the part where I broke free of the cycle, and moved out into an uncertain world. Some might say that it's a "grass is greener" scenario. But really, when I looked across that fence, I saw no green grass. I saw a lonely wasteland. I saw discomfort and pain. I didn't want to cross over, but something inside me told me that if I didn't, this side of the fence would open up and swallow me and my whole family. I knew this to be that still small voice. The one that I was trying so hard to ignore for so long.
So here I am, moved back in with my parents. Sharing custody of my kids with the man I married almost 5 years ago, and trying to figure out how we can save first ourselves, and then hopefully our union.
For me, speaking out is a double edged sword. On the one hand, I don't want to pretend like everything is okay, and life is proceeding as normal. On the other hand, I don't want to be accused of stirring up drama, or trying to gain attention. This is simply my truth. Finally. I am fucked up. My marriage is in serious trouble. We are both taking all possible actions to become the ones that we should have been able to be from the beginning. Maybe that will be enough to save it, but maybe not. Either way, I hope that we can come to a place where we can say it was all worth it. That we did the best we could, and are better people because of it, better parents, and better to ourselves. That is my hope.
To any of you out there who share this struggle, know this; you are not alone. You are stronger than you think, and the truth, especially uncomfortable truth, WILL set you free.
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