You Can. You Will.

In the past, when I have had heart to hearts with friends, we have discussed horrible situations we have heard that people are in, and I have heard my friends say, "I can't even imagine. I don't think I could survive something that devastating. I don't know how they are dealing with it."

It is said with such heartfelt empathy and good intentions. In the past I have nodded and agreed. "I know, I think I would just give up. They are so strong, I don't know if I could ever be that strong."

But then everything happened in this past year, and I WAS that strong. Yes, I may have whined and cried and said socially awkward and inappropriate things because I had to externalize my pain and confusion, but I made it. I got out of bed everyday and I faced a world that, in my heart, hurt me constantly. I took care of a body that betrayed me at every turn. I put a smile on a face that did not want to do it.

Basically I WAS that person that people everywhere were saying "I can't even imagine what she's going through. I wonder how strong I could be in that situation?" Well, I am here to tell you, you would make it too. Even though it seems unfathomable, you would wake up each day and walk through the world just the same as I did, even if you think you wouldn't, you would. Because you have no choice. Because you don't know what else to do. Because wallowing in your pain feels worse than functioning. Functioning means distraction and distraction means whole minutes of your life that you can get back.

And while you are walking you will grow. You will surprise yourself. You will change. In my case I surprised myself with my ability to harden my heart while simultaneously allowing myself to be vulnerable. Opening myself up to "whatever comes next" instead of controlling it. I had always craved control and here was a situation that I could not control, as much as I tried. That was perhaps the hardest part of the whole thing. Letting go.

Those of you reading this who have also faced a life challenge can relate. You never would have thought you could survive whatever you went through, but you did. It wasn't perfect and you messed up along the way, but here you stand. Better. Stronger. Smarter.

So, my message to all those people out there, who are in the middle of that conversation, where your heart hurts for someone going through something tough, and you truly fear the moment when you will be tested similarly, worrying that you aren't strong enough or you fear your own pain, is that you CAN and you WILL.

Again, it's not going to be fun. It will hurt. It will stretch you farther than you ever thought you would go. But you will make it.

Along the way you will see things you never saw before. Inside yourself and in others. You will learn who you can count on and see around you people that will avoid you because they are scared of your pain. People will say things to you that they think are the right thing and they are not. It will hurt. Yes, you will answer, it could be worse. But no, that doesn't make it better. Step in my shoes, you will say- but wish they never do. There will be a piece of yourself that wishes they knew pain too, even if it isn't the same pain as yours. Just so they understand when you are not yourself- or when you don't show up to events. And you will be ashamed that you wish they understood, then you will forgive yourself. Misery loves company and you wouldn't be human if you didn't allow a piece of yourself to crave that.

You will forgive those people who want to avoid acknowledging your pain because you know they think it could be contagious. They could "catch it." And, after all, they are still wondering if they are strong enough to weather your kind of storm. Or maybe they are scared of you...scared to push you to return to normalcy before you are "ready." But mostly, they are afraid they'll get your germs. You know that. You accept it.

You lean harder on the people who love you enough to "expose" themselves to your pain. They will try to fix it. They won't be able to and you both know that. You will love them more for trying.

You will start to say "why me" but finish with "It happened to me." You will have conversations with God and the Universe that leave you exhausted and frustrated. Then those conversations will start to make sense and you will accept the hand that God or the Universe dealt you. Healing will start.

Your relationships will be strained. You will work hard not to allow the cracks that have formed in them to get bigger. Outside situations will test that. You will get angry that others affected by your "tragedy" are not "feeling it" the way you do. You will learn to let that go because you will see it affecting them in different ways.

You will feel a punch in the gut every time you are reminded of whatever it is that happened. It will hurt. You will harden yourself so you feel them less. You will start to build armor for the punches. It will hurt less each time.

The healing is still happening- it is just masked in the mundane.

And as time goes on, you take a step back and realize you are surviving it. The thing or things that you thought you weren't strong enough to survive- you DID. You still are. You carry them with you in your heart. Those things never go away. You will always feel the punches. You will never go back to life the way you knew it before. But you have adjusted. You have changed. You are breathing.

So, to those of you who are wondering if you, too could survive, I am here to tell you that you CAN. You will carry a heavier load as you walk, but continuing to walk, you will.

Benjamin

Introducing Benjamin- our little rescue. Helping with the hole in my heart and putting holes in shoes...

The Hope Drug

Hope. It's a very powerful thing. And one that I have had a love/hate relationship with over this past year. In the past hope was something ever-present. Something that waited beneath the surface and could be summoned at will.

After this past year I relegated hope to a different place- a deep, dark, tucked-away place. Because it was dangerous. This past year hope has been a drug with a deadly hangover. Hope was something that I  welcomed like an old friend but later banished like the deceiver it turned out to be. Hope was lethal and highly potent.

In recent months hope brought with it an aftertaste of grief, or fear, of anxiety. With hope came disappointment and heartbreak.

So now, as it surfaces again, I am wary of it.

Recently I received news that was, dare I say it, hopeful. With each word muttered another piece of that old friend hope began to sneak back into my heart, even as I resisted. Even now, as I acknowledge it's presence, I am hesitant and scared. Will it come back to bite me in the end? To allow myself to partake in the elixir of hope? Will I ultimately hate myself for it, regret it, beat myself up for "not learning my lesson?"

I don't know. But it's there...I can't deny that I have at least allowed it to sneak a ray of sunshine back into my heart. The iron door is cracked just a little and instead of straining to shut it immediately I am letting it hang open just the slightest...

Allowing myself to have some hope is like standing on a big cliff. A cliff I know well and have fallen off of before. Like a kid whose mother has repeatedly warned them to back away from that cliff, that it's too dangerous, it's too tempting. I want to see what's below, even for one fleeting instance. To remember what it's like to see possibility again. So I tempt the cliff like that mischievous child, even if I know I can fall.

If I fall I can heal the broken bones later. And I will curse myself for standing near the hope cliff once again, leaving myself vulnerable to the fall. But for now, just to look over and see the possibilities below is a temptation I cannot resist.

I had forgotten what a powerful drug hope can be. If it turns out that it was a bad trip, I can, in the words of a former President, tell myself "I didn't inhale."