A triumphant middle

I’m writing with no certainty at all that the end of this story will, in fact,  be triumphant.  What I need right now is a triumphant middle.  At the beginning of this process, I had been cruelly kicked to the curb by a husband of 27 years.  Let’s not lead off with him, though.  Just know that it was a hideous, soul-damaging process.  Everyone said I would heal, but I did not believe them.  I would be the person for whom time did not heal all wounds.

But, of course I have healed.  In many ways I am so VERY much better off now than when I was married.  This truth does not imply that he did the right thing –not for a New York minute.  He abandoned me, leaving me homeless, unemployed, and 800 miles away from the bulk of my support system.   I got from that broken place to here through the strength of my friends and family who helped me up off the mat and by telling myself that I had to do one thing every day to make tomorrow better.  The level of terror in those first few months was not supportable.  I had to do something to make myself safer, every single day.

Indeed, I would very much like never to feel that way again, thank you very much.  But surely I can borrow that trick of moving myself forward one small step at a time.  My over-striving has resulted in wrong steps and being worn out all the time.  And yet, time is short.  I know that, too.  And I still have so very much to do.  But that means, in turn, that I can’t afford to make many more mis-steps. Those damn things can de-rail a girl for a long time.

I also now realize that in my self-talk and my talk with friends who share these issues, we tend to use rather militaristic language.  “Never give up; never surrender” -that kind of thing.  There is absolutely nothing wrong with that -but it’s never really made my heart sing, the whole military thing, in actuality or as metaphor  I would rather be making art with my actions.  Indeed, the picture I get in my head when I use or hear military-type metaphors is the uber-organized home of Captain von Trapp before Maria arrived.  Tidy but loveless, a place where order came before people.  No one means that, I totally see that.  Nonetheless,  I need to find a language that supports what I’m trying to create.

I think that I saw part of the truth when I knew that for my own sanity I had to do something powerful -however small- to reclaim a life.  What I didn’t see at the time was that I was doing that from a place of love.  I had to take those steps, but I could take those steps because people were standing all around me, doing their best to hold some of my pain.  It felt like I had all of the pain the world could absorb, but with the clarity of vision that comes from distance, I can see now that’s not true.    I was carrying all the pain I could carry, and other people were holding the rest for me.  Love moved me forward every bit as much as strength of will.  I am still loved in all those same ways, but I can’t continue to lay claim to that kind of circle of support.  It’s someone else’s turn to receive it, and well past the point where I should offer it.  

 So, what's the language for moving forward from a gentle loving place?  Weird that it doesn't spring to mind, huh?