Sometimes, I need to let the quiet surround me. Sometimes, I just need to go within myself. Because talking, writing, being…it’s just too painful. Sometimes the fight feels too overwhelming, too much. I get tired, exhausted, emotional and then numb.
The feelings – sadness, anger, frustration – they start to simmer under it all, but eventually they bubble up. And when they get too close to the surface, I put on my ‘I’m fine’ face and just like I’m cramming a king size pillow into a regular pillow case, I stuff those feelings back down. Pushing, punching, forcing something large into a space too small to contain it. And then, I put one foot in front of the other, hoping to get to the other side of despair.
But I don’t have time for despair. Strength is needed. Noah breaks further when he sees me upset. He carries the load of my emotions on top of his. And he starts to crumble. So I hold it together. Borrowing the, “We Can Do Hard Things,” quote from Glennon Melton at Momastery, I grasp my imaginary shield and coat of armor and go forth with the day. Busying myself with laundry, appointments, homework, dinner and such. And somewhere along the way, I find myself staring off into the distance, looking out into the world, wondering what it would be like to see my son happy most days. Wondering what it would be like to see a child running carefree through their younger years.
I spend a few minutes wondering. However, I stop short of falling into the deep well of self-pity. It’s hard to climb out once you get there. And it’s a dark, dark place to be. Nothing grows there. But I also try to be easy on myself, to allow myself a few moments of mourning, a few moments of ‘what if’, because I know how blessed we are. Then, I look up and say thank you. Despite the human need to justify, to know ‘why me, why us’, I try not to spend any time there. Because it’s not useful. And it doesn’t matter.
This is when I grasp tightly to Faith. I wrap my arms around it and hold on. I rest my head on its shoulder and pray. Tears fall from my eyes, for blessing me with the capacity and the courage to both stand tall and face the storm, and lay curled up in a corner with pain covering me like a blanket. Because both are real. Both are necessary.
In both of these places, I quietly gather strength. Some days the strength comes to me in great waves. Crashing into me with such force that I’m almost knocked over, but I bury my feet in the sand, hold ground and the waves break around me. Other days, the strength comes more softly. I lay on top of the gentle waves, letting them carry me in the direction of their choosing, but knowing that as they do, I’m absorbing the energy they bear.
Some days require standing strong against all that comes at you. And some days need you to succumb. To allow yourself to feel frail, be uncertain, hesitant and fragile. Because there’s strength in that too.
It’s hard. It’s supposed to be. And we don’t like feeling weak. Because when we feel weak, we feel like we are unworthy, we are not valued, we are without power. But see, it’s just the opposite.
And I’m thankful for that, because lately, I’ve been laying on a lot of waves. Gently floating with their direction, absorbing their energy for the next battle, the next fight, the next struggle.
And with my Faith, with my strength. I will carry on.
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