Swimming, the savior, and the loving One

There was a time when my faith was SO strong it felt unshakable. I knew, deep in my heart, that I was forgiven and loved. I went to church every Sunday (and I had friends there!) I knew the hymns, the praise songs, and the Bible verses that comforted me in difficult times. I tucked words of advice and encouragement into my heart, sharing them with every friend I saw during the week. I knew that Jesus would always be there for me.

But tragically, I lost sight of Him when I plunged deep into that ocean of fear and pain two years ago.

It's been very much like an underwater struggle for me. Let me try to explain.

Imagine yourself being on a sailboat in beautiful weather, surrounded by the people you love. You hear music that fills your heart with joy, feel the sunshine on your face, and you can't imagine any better place on earth. Suddenly, you feel someone push you out of the boat, feel yourself splashing into icy cold water. At first you're shocked, and you look up and see only the concerned face of the One who loves you more than anything, shimmering just above you. You reach up to be rescued, your arms heavy and clumsy. You flail around in your panicked state, unintentionally forcing yourself deeper and deeper into the water. Fear starts to make your heart pound. Seaweed tangles around your head and face, debris catches at your legs and feet. You try to get back to safely, but you can't breathe, can't move, can't think. With the struggle to get free, the need to breath, the desire to be safe, you forget all about the One up there, forget all about the sunshine and the friends. All that's left is you and the fight to save your own life.

My initial shock at what happened in my marriage two years ago was what pushed me from my firm footing and into the icy water in the first place. I was stunned, shocked with cold fear. I wanted my friends to save me. I reached my arms out to them, but no one was there. No one wanted to "take sides." This feeling of abandonment pulled me even deeper into the water. I felt all alone with no one to help me...I panicked and down further I went. I lost sight of the loving One. Confusion about how my friends treated me was like seaweed that clouded my vision. Finding out that my children had been hurt was debris that grabbed at my ankles and held me down, unable to breathe. I feared I would drown.

But I fought to save my own life and the lives of my children. I fought fiercely, all by myself. I pulled free from the debris. I pushed the seaweed out of my face.  Finally, an anonymous savior, in the form of a non-believing friend, pulled me back to the surface. I began to breathe again - coughing, sputtering breaths at first -  but I was alive.

I wanted to get out of the water and stay out. I wanted to curl up on shore and forget it all...the water, the sailboat, my so-called friends, and even my new-found savior. I stayed there for a while, I cursed the water, I cursed the person who pushed me, and I forgot all about the One. I calmed down and started swimming again, tentatively and with help at first, and finally, on my own.

I've been swimming a beginner's stroke for months now, learning to trust the water, learning to navigate the seaweed without it pulling me under again. I know where the debris is and have learned to swim around it. I've been reluctant to look for that sailboat, unwilling to believe that the sunny day was even real. I've caught myself humming songs from that time, though, and my heart remembers. I've even thought about the loving One, and how His face shone upon me, and I've even wondered if He's still there.

I am, and always will be, thankful to my savior friend. Even without knowing about the sailboat, or the loving One, or anything about my past, he pulled me from the water and tended to me when I needed it the most. He swims beside me to this day, applauding my courage, encouraging me, and always helping me to become an even stronger swimmer.

I think I want to find the sailboat again. I want to feel the sun on my face and the joy in my heart. I want to sing those songs with abandon. But I'll admit, I'm afraid. How do I know it's safe? How do I know it was real? How do I know I won't be hurt again?

For now, I think I will just swim. If I see the sailboat, I might get on. Maybe I'll sing. Maybe I'll get to visit with the loving One and everything will be okay.

No matter what happens, one thing is for sure. My friend will be by my side, ready to catch me if I fall. And I love him for that.

Ode to Summer

Oh summer, how I love you! 
I love yawning and stretching in morning's light
While my dreams shake off like glitter
I'm waking and smiling and content


Oh summer, how I love you!
I love sitting at the table by the window
Sipping coffee with extra cream
I'm renewed and refreshed and ready


Oh summer, how I love you!
I love packing for a day outing
To places educational and fun
I'm happy and organized and excited


Oh summer, how I love you!
I love cooking for my family
On the grill, sizzling and smoky
I'm tanned and warm and laughing


Oh summer, how I love you!
I love tucking little ones into bed
After baths, stories and snuggles
I'm whispering and hugging and kissing


Oh summer, how I love you!
I love knowing there's someone for me
Who's tender and grateful and sweet
I'm loved and loved and loved....

Blossoming

"And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." Anais Nin

When you touch a hot stove, you learn not to touch it again. When you disobey your parents, you learn that there will be consequences to your actions. When a friend reveals a secret, you learn not to tell secrets to that friend again. Life teaches us what NOT to do, from a very young age. Sometimes we test out what we think we've heard and experience reinforces what we've learned.

Don't cheat on a test. Don't react in anger. Don't go out with the "wrong" boys. Don't trust that group of girls. Don't stay out too late. Don't drink too much. Don't show up for work late.

Many times these lessons work for our own good. But what happens if we never learn what we are supposed TO do? What happens if we become paralyzed by the "don'ts"?

Pretty soon, all we can do is stand still, barely breathing, afraid to step, afraid to move, afraid to risk. We live in a tight little bud, wrapped around ourselves, not daring to move.

That was me. From the time I was a little girl, I took to heart every command given to me by my parents and teachers. I wanted to please the grown ups in my life and I didn't want to be seen as a "bad" girl. I imagined myself very small, not getting in anyone's way, keeping to myself, minding the "don'ts." I didn't really talk much and everyone always commented on how shy I was. Later, they said I was mature for my age. I didn't play in a group of girls. I didn't hang out with other teenagers, or go to the mall, or sass my parents. I couldn't risk their disapproval. I complied, adjusted, and went along. To be honest, this had less to do with being a "good girl" and more to do with being afraid.

I remember speaking up on only one occasion. In my small voice I asked if we could do things differently than the way we were doing them.  My verbalized thoughts were met with hostility, disapproval, and conflict. Naturally, I stopped talking. Instead, I turned everything inward and came up with a plan that I executed impulsively. My plan led me to a situation that wasn't good for me and nearly ended in disaster.

Again, life taught me (and experience reinforced it) that I needed to stay in the tight little bud. I learned: DON'T talk to the people in your life. DON'T share your heart. DON'T leave a bad situation because you might get yourself into one that is worse. Above all, I learned to keep to myself, to stay quiet and to avoid taking risks.

I was a quiet little girl who got good grades and didn't cause trouble. I was a quiet college student, and even when I made choices that weren't good for me, no one knew about them but me. I was a quiet wife who focused on my husband and children to my own detriment.

I lived inside that tightly controlled, quiet world of my own making for a long time. When people heard from me it was respectful and polite. I avoided conflict. I didn't say what I was really thinking. On the few occasions I did, I suffered such physical anxiety that I developed ulcers and high blood pressure.

Is it a wonder, then, that I ended up in a violent, controlling marriage? Is it a wonder that I didn't stand up for myself after the first time? Is it a wonder that I didn't confide in my friends or those who were supposed to be there for me? Life taught me to be that way and experience reinforced it.

But here's the problem. Being in that bud HURT. Constantly seeking approval HURT. Not knowing at the end of each day that I was accepted and loved HURT. Wanting to be me, wanting to have my own voice, wanting to do things differently than the people around me HURT. Not having someone there for me HURT. I was lonely and scared a lot. I didn't know what to do when conflict arose. I didn't know how to get out of a bad situation. I was afraid.

And you know what? I still don't know how to handle it when people disappoint me. I still don't always say no, even when it's in my best interest. I still don't really know the best way to advocate for myself and my children and avoidance is still one of my favorite coping skills.

But now that I've had a taste of love and acceptance, I'm learning! It's sweeter than anything I ever imagined. I'm sick of that hurtful bud and I'm not going back to it. I'm learning to speak my mind, to advocate for what's right, and to stop doing the things I don't want to do. NO is going to become a regularly used part of my vocabulary.

I'm ready to blossom!

The Monster Under the Bed

Sarah had just finished sweeping her bedroom floor as Rick carried the last armload of clothes to the hallway to be bagged for donating. 

"Wow, it's starting to look great in here," she exclaimed, looking at the new entertainment center and small TV in the corner and the small dresser they had put in her room. "I can't believe I've waited a year to change this space and really make it mine. Thank you again for your help, but mostly for your inspiration." 

"It's my pleasure, sweet girl," he said. As he talked, he moved next to the bed and started to push it with his hip.

"DON'T!" Sarah shouted and put both hands on the bed. "You can't move the bed!"

Rick laughed at her dramatic shout, but looking over the bed at her, he realized she wasn't being funny. The fear in her eyes was unmistakable and, as before, it startled him to see her literally paralyzed by it. He'd seen this look in her eyes on two other occasions, once when he'd shouted in anger at getting his car stuck in the driveway and once when he'd raised his voice in frustration when he couldn't get her to understand something he was saying. 

"Baby, what's the matter?" he asked as he went to her side and took her shoulders in his hands. "Look at me. Talk to me."

"You can't...," she shook her head and whispered, starting at the bed as if it was alive. "You can't move the bed."

"Why not?" he asked softly.

"There's stuff under there," she said. "Stuff that I don't want to...can't...look at."

"Okay baby," he said reassuringly. "Then we won't. We don't have to move it today. I was just going to sweep under it. But it's okay. We can do it another time. We've already done a lot today."

They went downstairs and he got her a drink of water. As before, her mind seemed far away and he knew she had to be alone with her thoughts for a little while. She'd come back to herself, he knew. It would just take a little time. 

Sarah walked alone by the river, trying to get the images out of her mind. It had been over a year and a half since he'd left, but every once in a while the memories came back with alarming clarity. Despite her best efforts to shake them off, to distract herself with the children or a book, she knew that the only way to force the demons away was to remember them and deal with them head on.

"I hate you, you bastard!" she swore quietly as she picked up a rock and threw it into the river as hard as she could. And she truly did. She hated how he could still evoke fear in her from behind bars, separated by miles and even years from her. She let the tears flow, remembering his face, remembering his words, remembering what had happened in that room. She cried for a long time, until it felt like there wasn't anything left inside her. The tears cleansed her and, for now at least, she could return to her life. 

                  ****************************************************************

Two months later, Sarah stood next to the bed again, alone this time. She had done the weekly clean-up, putting away the new clothing she'd purchased, dusting the furniture and the few photos on the dresser, and sweeping the floor. The bed was made with the freshly laundered sheets she'd purchased a few months ago and the pillows were fluffed. She'd tied back her pretty new blue curtains to let the sun stream in the windows. 

The memory of the old black curtains came back to her and gripped her. "I told you to never open these curtains," she heard him say in her head. "You know I need to sleep in the daytime. I can't sleep with the frigging sun blinding me. What's the matter with you?"

She was sick of it, sick of his voice in her head. Sick of the memories, the fear, the hatred. 

"Enough!" she said out loud. "Enough of this stupid fear. I'm NOT afraid of you anymore!" As she spoke, she went to the bed and shoved it, as hard as she could. It moved on its wheeled legs, at least a foot towards the closet. She trembled and looked down, her heart starting to pound. 

The first thing she saw was the brown shoe. It was a suede slip-on, no laces or buckles for him to have to bend over and deal with. She thought of the day she had brought them home from Payless, trying to appease his anger over the black ones from LL Bean ripping a month after buying them. He'd put them on, and the disdain had appeared immediately on his face. 

"They're too narrow. You know I can't wear narrow shoes. What a waste of money. And I'd have you take them back, but you'd never remember, so it's a waste of breath to even say it. There's one more thing I'm going to have to do, in all of my free time. Thanks. Thanks a lot."

"I'm sorry," she'd stammered, angry at herself for being so weak around him. "I was just trying to help."

Now she picked up the size 11 shoe and threw it into the garbage bag. She found the mate and threw it too, harder this time. She picked up the black dress shoes next. She let herself remember how he'd looked when he'd dressed up to go to DJ gigs. He'd had a way of tightening his tie around his ruddy neck, licking his lips and starting at himself in the mirror like he was God's gift to women. He'd sickened her. How she'd hated those gigs, hated how he'd embarrassed her by forcing her to talk over the microphone to announce what was coming up next at the party or reception and then accused her of flirting with all the men after they'd gotten home.

She continued throwing his things into the garbage bag, trying not to dwell on the memories each item evoked.  She felt numb by the time she put the last boot into the bag and realized that tears had been streaming down her face. She tied the bag up and placed it in the hallway before returning to sweep the floor under the bed. 

When the broom moved toward the headboard wall, though, she stopped with a gasp. There, low on the wall, were the eyebolts he had put there. She froze as she remembered the nylon restraints that had been clipped into them. She thought again of the fear she had experienced being completed immobilized by the restraints he had forced her into, naked and blindfolded. She remembered he had taken pictures of her, had touched her in ways that had made her cry with fear, pain and shame. 

Sarah's fear gave way to anger at that moment and she threw the broom down in disgust. "How could you?" she asked the invisible monster. "You were supposed to love me, to cherish me, and take care of me and my kids. Instead, you took everything that ever meant anything to me. You made me feel dirty. You tried to ruin my name, tried to turn my kids against me, and took all of my money. Well you know what? You deserve that cell you're going to rot in for the rest of your life."

She took the screwdriver from her bedside table and threaded it through the hole of the first eyebolt. Turning it, she saw her life without him stretching out before her, free from humiliation, free from pain, free from fear. She removed it from the wall and rubbed the hole it left behind. Turning to the second one, she removed it and placed them both on her nightstand. Looking at the scars on her wall, she thought of how nice it would be to patch them and paint over them. But just like the scars on her heart, she would always know they were there, would know that they could never truly be erased. 

As she finished sweeping the floor and putting the bed back in place, Sarah knew that the monster had lost some of its power that day. She had faced it and was still standing. After everything, he hadn't won, but she wondered how long it was going to take to truly feel victorious. If she ever would.