A Time to Fade

“Everyone needs more than anyone can give right now.”

I lie in bed staring at the ceiling.  Wondering if I can possibly get away with not showering one. more. day. My joints ache.  I notice the stiffness in my fingers and toes.  This doesn’t surprise me, but the tears come anyway.  

…Even my own body is against me…

 I used to wish things would change.  Now I wish for time to freeze.  

A moment without any new assaults.  

To stop. 

 

To breathe.  

To sit.  

To be safe.  

2019 was a tough year for me.  A brain injury shattered what was left of me after years of pain.  

Broken and alone I limped into 2020.  

Lunar New Year approached and I thought:  “One more time.  Just try.  One. more. time.”

I knew it was stupid.  I knew there was no space for me.  I knew the emptiness that lay ahead. 

The stories I could tell.  My “statistically unusual life”

And just as I am ready BOOM pandemic.  

In April I wrote: “It’s like I got to the front of the line and as I open my mouth to whisper that I need help billions of people are dropped in front of me. And I don’t know what to do.  I don’t know what to think.”

Once again pushed into the shadows.  Unseen.  Alone.  

Painful, but not surprising.  Truth is I already knew the answer.  The universe hadn’t changed its message in 30 years, but over and over I kept trying for a different message. 

“Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

-Albert Einstein

For some, this world is hope after pain.  

For some, this world is healing after trauma.  

For others, belonging after neglect.

For others, safety after fear.

And for a few...

Pain after pain.

Trauma after trauma.

Neglect after neglect.

Fear after fear.

 “A broken mirror, painted black 

There is no light reflected back 

Thorns grow up where there was green

All sorrow, shame and broken things

Paradise has barred its doors.”

-Caroline Cobb

The time has come to fade from view. 

No more striving.  No more wishing. 

 

Adieu.

*Quote found here  https://twitter.com/hillarydixler/status/1340744947205459968

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Washer Door Reflections

Several years ago, when I moved into my current residence, I discovered that the washer door was broken.  I quickly figured out that if I did this specific convoluted wiggle balance dance then the door would close.  Soon I didn’t even have to think about it.  I just did it.  Several years and hundreds of loads later someone restored the washer door to its original functionality.  “How nice it will be to finally have this fixed,” I thought. 

 

Wrong!  Now every time I use the washer I inevitably end up sitting in a puddle of tears on the laundry room floor.  At this point, you may be wondering if the washer door has actually been repaired…  It has.  All you have to do is press it close in one quick smooth motion and voila!  I know what to do; however, because my body has been doing this convoluted wiggle balance dance for years it is having an incredibly difficult time executing this new, easier, way of closing the door. In fact, most days it seems impossible (hence the tears). 

 

The other day as I sat, once again, in a puddle of tears I realized my washer challenge mirrored my life.  My life has been one broken story after another.  As a result, I’ve developed complex coping mechanisms and behaviors.  I’ve read book after book, article after article, and listened to talk after talk on healthy attachments, coping mechanisms, relationships, behaviors, you name it.  I know what to do, but knowing and doing are two very different things.

 

One of my favorite sayings is “children do well if they can.”  I think every child (and every adult) at their core wants to do well.  Of course, sometimes that is hidden under a mountain of hurt and disappointment.  We want to do well.  Sometimes we just can't.  I know it seems easy: "if we would just do X."  Often our mind may “know” the answer, but that doesn’t mean our body has been reprogramed to be able to do it yet.  For years we've been operating one way and now we have to learn another.  We are trying our best.  Imagine a fork in a river.  If you go down the left fork the water is rough full of rocks and rapids.  If you go down the right side it's much smoother and the water carries you gently down the stream.  Those of us who can't do well have been down the left fork.  Now we are trying to get the canoe up the creek without a paddle back to the starting point.  It’s possible, but it is slow tiring painful difficult work.  And it is very very lonely.    

Please for those of you that can do well, if you’re able, hold space for those of us that can’t do well.  Our deepest desire is to be seen and to do well.  Hold hope when we cannot.  If you are someone struggling to do well know that you are not alone (though it may feel like you’re alone every second of every day).  You are not broken (though you may feel you are broken beyond repair).  You adapted in marvelous ways to protect and care for yourself.  And you don’t have to believe that.  It’s okay to be angry.  To be sad.  Recovery is long hard slow work.  And no matter where you are in it you are loved.  I see you.

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Oh to be That Girl Again...

On the first page of 2019 I wrote:

“Body aching.

Soul empty.

Mind tired.

January is hard.  A reminder that life only ever gets harsher.  Hope, a mirage.

‘Foxes have holes and birds have nests

Other men have families

A place they can call home and find their rest

But what is there for me?’

-Crownbearer” 

I wrote that entry thinking I was reflecting on the past, little did I know I was foreshadowing the future. 

Worn out and burned out.  I limped into 2019.  Oh what I would give to be that girl again.  The girl in January before the diagnoses… before the accident… before the danger… before the dark.  I was familiar with pain, with chaos, and with trauma (or as I call it a typical Tuesday).  Difference is I had no more space.  No more space for holding.  No more space for processing.  No more space for stuffing.  At first my compassion fatigue was directed at me.  Then it grew and grew so more.  Eventually spreading to friends…family…and at some point the world.  Its not that I don’t care.  Oh do I care.  But I couldn’t (I can’t).... But I will.  Oh will...

Wait until April I heard.  Wait until April. Over and over.  So I waited.  Curious.  Daring.  Then the world ground to halt.  Earth, the actual physical ground itself slowed.

And now everyone will need help.  Quarantines= Trauma.  Grief.  Pain.  Suffering. 

People will need jobs. They will need therapy, they will need care.  They will need kindness.  They will need to process.  They will need.  And I know this, so I push.  I shove.  I dig.  I make space.  Because that is who I am.  My lot in life.

Oh to be that girl again.

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