But that was almost ten years ago.
This time, I took a deep breath. The kind of deep breath you take when the suspenseful scene of a movie is over. When you no longer have to look through your fingers at the screen. There was no immediate launch into a better season of life this time. Just a deep sense of having been looking for something somewhere it could never be, and giving up the search.
For more reasons than one, the last few months have been overwhelming. I have struggled with deep senses of shame and fear and sadness. Winter was ending, but spring didn't seem to hold much promise. I have been frustrated and indignant and afraid. And bored.
I have been utterly bored.
With myself and all my plans.
There is nothing boring about being a mom and a social worker. It's even less boring to be a single mom and a social worker at the same time, every day without end. I have struggled with the challenge. I have struggled with motivation to get up each morning, to do the dishes, to participate in anything. Just because it's been exhausting.
But there is boredom factored in, because the trust and hope that better is coming has been almost extinguished. This is not the life I wanted for us. I do not know how to make it better. I feel like I am wasting time. I feel like I am actively failing some days. And it took far too long for me to find the word to identify the emotion I was feeling regarding our circumstances.
I've known the word lonely. I've known the word stressed. I've known the word overworked.
But not since I first announced I was pregnant, have I felt the strength of the word shame.
Here's the wicked thing about shame, though. It's a lie.
Sure, when you're pregnant and everyone is judging you, shame makes some sense. When you're nine months pregnant walking on a college campus without a wedding ring, or going to labor and delivery classes alone, or trying not to answer all those questions from all those people. Shame takes root quickly because it seems appropriate. Embarrassment is a better word, but it isn't the one the enemy likes to use.
Shame embeds itself in us when it doesn't make sense. When there's no good reason. When the enemy just truly wants to take you out. But subtly.
I have felt trapped in this shame, trapped in the boredom, trapped in the fear of what we've been through. There isn't much I don't regret about the last year of our lives, and I wish I could undo it. I rarely feel this way. I rarely give regret a foothold. But these last eight months I wish I could strike from the record.
There had to have been an easier way to learn all the lessons I did learn. And those lessons are the only hint of redemption at this point. Lessons I'm afraid I'll never be able to put into practice again because, shame.
I've been studying Brene Brown's work inside and out. I identified the monster of shame and have been acquiring weapons against it ever since. All my life I have had to fight against the lies of the enemy, knowing my greatest defense against those lies was identification. Call it a lie. Forever my first piece of advice. Call something for what it is.
Some wisdom has come my way in the past couple of months, as I've vulnerably sought healing.
1. Shame has made it hard to forgive myself for letting this happen.
This is a huge revelation. One I appreciated being pointed out to me. Forgiveness of self is not something I practice often, so when shame comes to call, this is where it takes root. I often think, I should have known better, or, I should have done better. But if I look back through an objective lens, I know while there were mistakes I made, there must be room to forgive myself. Whether I like it or not, this season of life is part of my story now. It cannot be redacted. I may not want to read it out loud, like so many other seasons, but it is there. On the permanent record. And I can either forgive myself for my part of it, learn from it, and press forward... or I can stay stuck. Hating myself for what my choices did to my family. For having so much false hope. For returning.
2. It is only possible to manipulate me, if I believe a kernel of truth.
This truth hit me hard. Side swiped me with the discomfort of it. The only reason I am ever able to be manipulated, is if I believe a small truth in someone's words or actions. If faced with a disgracefully manipulative human being, you have to learn to disbelieve anything they say. This is drastic. This isn't a privilege afforded to many, as we work and live and function with these manipulative people on a daily basis. And the deepest trick of the manipulator is: they use truth for their purpose. I, however, have the "luxury" of totality here. To avoid being pulled back into the gravitational pull of what I'm trying to leave behind, I cannot believe there's truth there anymore.
This seems impossibly hard. And hurtful on a level I didn't want to face.
At this point, I am having to choose to believe love wasn't ever there.
3. Real life is hard.
It's easy to stick to your diet when there's only vegetables in the house. When everyone around you is also making healthy choices. When resources are readily available to make it easier to do the right thing. What's hard, what's a truer testament to your strength and discipline, is when someone brings in the cookies.
Lord have mercy. The point behind this analogy is simply: when I am experiencing temptation or struggle, it is not necessarily always an attack. Sometimes it is just real life. And real life is hard. And it's hard to put our discipline and wisdom into practice when external or internal factors are causing friction. The cookies show up, and you feel like you're being tested.
It's easier on the path of least resistance. But not many of us get to choose that path.
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I want to pursue promotion and no longer settle for lateral life decisions, with little positive impact. I want to hold myself to a higher standard of performance, but also aspiration.
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