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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