Learning to Roar While Learning to Heal

If I had read this quote several years ago my reaction to it would have probably been something along the lines of:  "Ppppbbbbtttttttthhhhhh!"

I would have blown raspberries at this beautiful lion, y'all.  I would not have related to the "try me" mentality at all.  "You want me to dare the world to TRY ME?  Are you crazy, Mr. Unknown?  That's like climbing monstrous, snowy mountains with sherpas and extra oxygen and things called crampons.  Try me is for those spirited [read: crazy] folks whom I admire, but also secretly think are reckless and irresponsible.  I'm a wife and a mother of two.  We don't dare the universe.  Just like I don't desire to bungee jump or ski black diamonds anymore (okay, I never wanted to ski black diamonds).  We wives and mothers are sensible people.  We thank the universe kindly and offer it a break-n-bake chocolate chip cookie.

Today, however?  I look at that lion and I notice he has a little red in his mane, like me.  His eyes are bright and filled with wisdom.  He is smiling.  He could use a good combing, but he's more than a respectable lion.  He's been through some tough stuff, that beautiful, shaggy lion.  And when he's PUT in another tough situation (notice he doesn't go looking for them--he's too grown-up for bungee jumping too) he takes a deep breath and blinks, "I've survived more than this.  I will do my very best to thrive in this tough situation too."

I think the more tough stuff we endure and survive, the more ready we are to brace ourselves when the next life-tsunami hits.  However, this doesn't have to mean we become more fearful and paranoid.  I've gone that route--it doesn't prevent a darn thing from happening--but it's a fabulous way to suck up all your time and energy... and lose sleep... and create health problems... and ruin your complexion.  (I mean, if a girl has to have sooooo many freckles, can't she at least not have to deal with adult acne?)

Becoming a "try me" kind of person doesn't happen overnight or happen automatically after a certain number of curveballs to the gut.  I think one must make a conscious decision everyday to become stronger after thoroughly inspecting the alternative.  (Trust me, I've inspected it with a microscope and a few bottles of wine--the alternative sucks).  And I so wish I could save all of the people out there who haven't yet experienced their curveballs and gut-wrenching life surprises by just telling them it's easier on their heart and soul to do things like Trust God and Have Patience.  But it takes experiencing it themselves before Worryholics and regular-spirited folks decide to put on their parkas and face the ice mountain without fear.  I've heard all too often, "My life is just so perfect right now.  I'm taking Wellbutrin because I can't stop worrying about when something bad might happen to mess it all up."

I wish I could tell those folks that even though something WILL happen to screw up the current perfection, there's no use worrying about it.  The only preparation God has given us for the things we cannot foresee or even the things we cannot fathom is trust in Him.  The broken-record message he sends in the Bible (and then through miracles when we're least expecting them) is Do Not Fear.  I've wondered numerous times in my 42 years how He expects us to do that in this crazy-scary-awesome world we live in.  But then my "perfect life" has been reinvented so many times that I think I'm finally on to something.  Just listen to Him, Red.  He really knows what He's talking about.

__________________________________________________________________

In August of 2012, when I arrived home from a trip to Mexico with two of my soul sistas, I was refreshed, filled-up, rested and grateful.  I was also freckly and tanned!  I risked melanoma by allowing my bathing suit-clad bod to hang out in the sun wearing less than Factor 100!  I was going to return to my family and share my bright smile and new (3,000) freckles and cause my hubby to pull me aside in a private moment and whisper, "Hubba hubba...  There's the girl I met on the beach in California!  Let's ditch these kids for a few hours--whaddya say?"

Instead, I was met with words I never thought I'd hear from my spouse.

"I'm not happy."

Those three words, and the way they were said, hit me like a sneak attack of venomous snakes.  I flushed.  I fought throwing up.  I thought (prayed) I was hallucinating.  I desperately tried to catch my breath while my heart did its infrequent flippy-flop thing it sometimes does.  I became hyper-aware of how vulnerable I felt in my Riviera Maya halter top and short-shorts and millions of freckles.

I asked all the questions one asks in this situation... What did I do wrong?  How can I make you happy?  Is there another woman?  Can't you see we've (probably) reached the light at the end of our tunnel?  Will you go to counseling with me?  Don't you know how much I love you?  How long have you been unhappy?

The last question may sound a little ridiculous if you know much about my 15 year marriage history.  My then-husband and I had held on to one another through some rough patches.  Actually, I thought we had weathered several near-disasters with grace and love that was binding us closer together:  a newborn baby with sleep apnea who didn't sleep more than two consecutive hours for his first year of life; three miscarriages; another newborn baby with sleep apnea, colic and "sensitivity disorder;" my cancer and late-stage Lyme diagnoses in the same month; Lyme diagnoses for both of our children; trips to specialists at Children's Hospital, DC, Connecticut.

So, yeah.  On paper it looks like a pretty miserable 15 years... I've never listed it out like that.  Ick.  But truly, there were amazing moments of joy throughout.  I see how God gave us those moments, like wide, smooth, beautiful stepping stones through a freaky river, to hop across to the other side.  Still, you could say we had more than our "fair share" of tests over the course of our marriage, but I had myself convinced we were both on the same page.  We were survivors because we took on the challenges thrown in our path together.  When we'd argue, I'd confide in a close friend or two and often remarked, "If our marriage has survived the past _____ years, we can get through ANYTHING!"  And I believed it with all my heart.

Was that daring the universe to TRY ME?  No, I don't think so.  I just figured we'd made it through the firestorm and were bonded eternally, as soulmates, having earned our scars and stars and colorful badges only we knew existed... so romantic... and we appreciated each other that much more.

Not so much, eh?

But now I can look back on that horrifying, excruciatingly painful day two and a half years ago, and I don't see the dissolution of true love throughout the world or the "real truth" about what we call soulmates.  I definitely don't say, "Why me?"--at least not anymore--because I wouldn't be who I am and who I was meant to be without these experiences.  I look back and see a naive, but stubborn woman who fought for her marriage and her family as soon as she could see the damage her husband had hidden so very well.

Don't get me wrong... I was almost obliterated over the months that followed his "reveal."  Honestly, it was the first time in my life I found myself saying, "THIS. IS. NOT. FAIR!  How do I survive this, God?  I'm willing to do anything to make it all better, but he's ALREADY GONE?!  He tells me he's unhappy and he's moved on when I can FIX IT.  This is, I repeat, NOT FAIR!"

I would scream it into my pillow at night.  I would cry it into the telephone while hiding in my walk-in closet at 2 in the morning, asking him why he wouldn't let me fix it.

But it wasn't something I could fix.

I now see myself actually grin when I recall parts of that day 30 months ago when he told me the truth:  when I tried so desperately to breathe deeply to calm my nervous system--something yoga had taught me--but was unable to take a deep breath because a yoga stunt on the beach in Mexico left me with a pulled chest muscle.  I can grin because of how hopeful I was to nail that yoga pose on the beach and how the pulled muscle prevented me from being able to calm myself down during a crucial time when extra oxygen was needed.  The irony is funny.  Yoga-induced inability to calm oneself.

I can grin because my pulled chest muscle healed just fine.
I know my heart muscle is stronger.
It will heal too.

My yogi soul sista rocked this pose without injury--she's a teacher now!

At first I thought this was a throw-away pic--I was losing my balance while trying to hold Tree pose.
Then I noticed the reflection of the sun over my heart.

An Accidental Education

My son recently asked me a very interesting question while we were clearing the dinner table.  Actually, we weren't clearing the table, he was just holding his plate and walking slowly around the kitchen, as is his method of getting me to do most of the work.

With the hint of a grin he asked, "Mom, if you were to go back in time to talk to your 20-year-old self, what would you tell yourself to do differently?"

His question surprised me for a few reasons.  First, he's thirteen.  He wants very little to do with me in general, much less ask probing questions to get me talking to him MORE.  Secondly, it surprised me because of the emotion it evoked.  I felt as if I was back in high school and the teacher called on me while I was daydreaming.  "You'd better pass this test, Red," I told myself.

Instead of answering right away, I asked him a question.

"Do you think it would be wise of me to warn myself of the future?  Maybe tell my young self about the illnesses to pop up in our family or warn myself of the divorce that would occur after 15 years of marriage?"

This last part I added very gently... I didn't want him to think I felt it would be a bad idea.  I wanted to know if he thought the warning would be helpful or hurtful.

He said, "Nah... you couldn't do that.  You wouldn't do that.  But maybe you could tell yourself to study law or medicine instead of elementary education.  Something that would actually pay you some real money."

In my twenties I may have described myself as a passionate teacher, adoring wife, good daughter and an open-minded, clumsy, fun-loving girl. 

At 42, I can describe myself as a passionate learner, a lover of life, a fiercely dedicated mother, a grateful daughter, a cancer survivor, a late-stage Lyme-thriver, an open-hearted, clumsy lover-of-God and a woman who looks hard for the good in every situation.

Progress!  42 ain’t so bad…

Things I’ve learned now that I’m “middle-aged”

I love a compliment as much as the next gal, but when someone tells me I’m beautiful while I’m wearing my night guard, zit cream and my hair in a rooster tail, I know they love the real me.  And that compliment is better than any I could ever imagine.

I am stronger now because I know more of my weaknesses.

When I realize a friend-for-a-season is not a friend-for-a-lifetime, I will feel awful for a while until I count my blessings again.

I’ve learned gratitude truly is the key to happiness.

I care much less that people understand exactly where I’m coming from—I care more about showing others empathy and how much I want to understand them.  (Although I don’t always shut up when the time is right)

I care less now about whether my children are popular, smart and well-liked.  I now pray they understand life is not fair, but will be kind, generous, resilient, thoughtful and able to see how Love Always Wins anyway.

I’ve learned praying is not something just “religious” people do, it’s sometimes something people do when they’ve experienced miracles and can’t wait to talk to the Big Guy in charge again.

I’ve learned to properly accept a compliment… Thank you.

I am prone to protect my solitude, but when I push myself to go to that party or join friends for lunch, I’m always so grateful I did.

When one of my children gets a teacher who makes them feel adored, I will want to lavish gifts upon that person until they feel a little freaked out… and maybe contemplate getting a restraining order.

I’ve learned a man with gentle confidence, but not cockiness, and who has a genuine face is more attractive than a great physique or a flawless smile.  Teeth are good to HAVE though—don’t get me wrong.

One reason we endure the process of pain is so we can be sympathetic supporters of hurting souls who need our help.

I’ve learned I can put up Christmas lights all by myself, and they look damn good!

I’ve learned women who exude genuine interest in other women have a healthy amount of self-esteem.

I’ve learned I will always, always, always want my parents to live just an hour away.

I’ve learned there is strength in leaving the house without makeup on when you know you will see those who may remark to others in a hushed, concerned tone, “She’s just not looking well.”

I’ve learned I WANT to like cooking, but I can now admit I don’t really like cooking at all.  I like eating.

When I learn of a child’s death, whether I knew him or not, I will mourn and become fearful if I don’t pray immediately.

I’ve learned to stop comparing myself to all of the successful women I know.  There will always be someone smarter, more creative, funnier, etc… I just have to be the best Ginny I can be.

I’ve learned living with a chronic illness doesn’t mean I have to be a chronic pain in the ass.

Children are always watching how we react in unfair and unfortunate circumstances.  Our gift to them is trying our best to consistently show them what grace looks like.

I’ve learned divorce is much like having your heart ripped out of your chest repeatedly while having the stomach flu, until one day you see your ex and realize God was protecting you and your children.

I’ve learned how very much I’ve missed writing down my thoughts and feelings because I’m not sure exactly WHAT I think until I’ve expressed it!