One of the things I was subconsciously taught at an early age was to put my trust, hope and joy in things instead of people. And who could blame me? My parents divorced when I was six, I had lost three grandparents by the time I was ten AND I was an only child. It was the perfect storm. It was much easier to put my joy in things that wouldn’t die and/or leave me. I was in total control. I could push away all living entities and embrace cold, hard toys and books. Who needed the real world with its aches, pains and betrayals when I could travel my own interior world of freedom and safety.
The problems arose, as they inevitably do (and they are, as much as it pains me to say, graces from God), when I grew up, got married and had children. My worldview couldn’t work anymore. At least not in any healthy way. Sure, I could continue to rely on my safe interior world of books and religion and loneliness for comfort but to what end? Imagine my surprise, confusion and bitterness when I realized that the magical world that I had built for myself only served to further isolate my soul from the real life it longed for while simultaneously hurting and pushing away the people that loved me the most. I guess it shows how broken I am when I say that I really hate the fact that I need people. Not in some unhealthy, codependent way but in the way that breathes life into my soul. Having to trust that another human being won’t hurt me by dying or leaving is the pain of my life but, in the end, trust is one of the fertilizers for the garden of the soul. If you trust no one your soul will eventually wither and die. And, again, I hate this truth. I want to be alone. I don’t want to open myself up. But, still trekking with the gardening theme, plants that don’t open themselves up to the sunlight, who stay closed up to themselves end up hurting themselves and their environment.
Maybe what I am afraid of is the subconscious fear that when I look into my children’s eyes I will see the eyes of my dead grandparents and hear the whispers that tell me all is lost and all will be lost so run, run, run. As I write this I am reminded of Julian of Norwich’s famous quote: “All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.” If you ask me what faith is, this quote would be it. How can I muster up the strength to look in my loved ones eyes while remembering the pain of loss seen in the eyes of those who have departed? By reminding myself that all will be well. And this “all shall be well” isn’t sometime in the future where a switch is flipped and suddenly everything is magically ok. I am realizing that this “all shall be well” is made up of tiny moments when we choose to open ourselves up to each other, to allow ourselves to bloom, and, in doing so, make our world and the worlds around us a better place. To me this seems impossible. If feels like it takes all of the faith in the world. But someone once said, “If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there.’ and it will move.”
I have many mountains that need moving. Perhaps the way that they move is in the terrible, healing slowness of choosing minute by minute, day by day to open myself up to those around me. Could it be that the warmth of the sunlight of my loved one’s smiles and cares will melt away my mountains of sorrow, fear and pain? There is only one way to find out. And, if you ask me, that is what faith is really about.
So beautiful and relatable, friend. Thank you for sharing your heart and being vulnerable in your struggles. Appreciate you and your voice ✨