both/and
Expectations. We all have them, whether spoken or unspoken. Whether realized, or subconscious. We have expectations of ourself, of others, and even of God. I heard in a sermon once, "the best thing we can do for our peace of mind is to crucify our expectations." I've realized that takes not only deep self awareness and reflection, but a daily surrendering and walk with God. Jesus is described as our "daily bread", our "living water", and the Word is a "lamp unto our feet". Yesterday's bread does not suffice for today, we cannot physically live without water, and a lamp gives off just enough light for where we are. We need Him like we need breath, and this is constant. Living according to my own strengths and abilities will never work because let's face it - I am a mess.
I'm my own worst critic and ultra hard on myself. Some would say I'm a perfectionist (me, I would say that!) Over the years, I became more and more obsessive compulsive. I realize now that my life was so out of control, I attempted to control the things that I could. Releasing those things has been a process of coming to an awareness of truth. The more I am outside of what was and the more healing that takes place, the more I can see things for what they were. I've mentioned before that I had become a shell of a person. I hid, I protected, I built walls so thick that no one could see the real me. Now that I have the freedom to just be, my emotions seem over the top. As the walls are coming down brick by brick, with that comes a flood of tears. Anyone that's spent a small amount of time with me in the past 18 months is probably smiling to themselves right about now. Melissa equals crying. It's because I held it all in for so long. In a desire to be real and authentic now and to unpack it all, that's just what comes with it. Calvin joked with me the other night, "let me know when you need another good cry and I'll take you out again." Date night typically means tears, because conversation gets real and gets deep.
All that to say, I beat myself up over it. I've made myself believe that tears equal pain or that I should be okay by now. That I need to shove it in, or I will run people away. This is where the flashing lights came - it's a process. And it's okay. I got a new book the other day and just the introduction feels life changing. As the author was describing her process, I wanted to jump and scream and cry all at the same time. It so deeply resonated with my spirit. Because she says it perfectly...
"It's a line in time. One that's so sharply drawn across your reality, it not only divides your life, it splits open your memory bank and defiles it. Pictures of the past are some of our most priceless treasures, until they become painful reminders of what no longer is. And when your phone randomly sends those memory movies of what happened on this same day four years ago, it stops you from breathing.
Life before. Life now. Maybe it seems like you think about what happened all the time. Or at least so much of the time you wonder if you'll ever, ever stop having that deep-aching, off kilter feeling. That throbbing heartbreak bubbling with an equal mix of anxiety, unanswered questions, and suspicion that really no one in the world is ever truly safe anymore. (this!)
People all around you at work, in the coffee shop, at your kid's school, and even at church just trying to live their lives, completely unaware that at any moment there could be a triggered memory so painful you'll feel as though the world has no more oxygen to breathe. But you are the only one affected. You're gasping, sweating, and being asked to please get on with it or get out of everyone's way."
Someone asked me a couple of months after that dividing point in my life, "why are you crying?" I received it as "why are you crying this time?", because I was frustrated with the process. I cannot always answer that question, but I do know there should be no expectation from myself or anyone else to heal overnight. Even when you're willing and ready to do the hard work, the journey is long. But here's the line in the book that really hit me.
"Your life can be a graceful combination of beautiful and painful. You don't have to put a definitive label on what once was. It can be both-and. It's necessary for you not to let pain rewrite your memories. And it's absolutely necessary not to let pain ruin your future."
Yes. I've realized that this doesn't just go away. It's too complicated. People can feel free to have their thoughts and opinions, but what is known is a minute fraction of what was. Those details are not for everyone, but shoving things under the rug does not equal healing. I choose to share only so perhaps it can help someone else. Crying doesn't mean I'm unhappy or not okay or stuck in the past. All of what I'm experiencing now, including learning how to receive love, is part of my healing. I thank and praise God for putting someone in my life who is willing to take all of me and love me anyway. To patiently help me process my pain and forgiveness. To love my children as his own. To wipe my tears and hold me when I cannot get out a clear thought and listen when I do finally have the words.
I was reading through my journal and found this that I had written and it still is true today, Jesus, I surrender it all to you - my expectations of what it should've been and my expectations of what it will be. I accept the death of what was, and anticipate the life I live now and that is to come. I expect a resurrection. I trust Your plans for me. I trust Your future for me. I trust my kids to You. I cannot do this, I cannot fix this, but You can. I want to enter your rest.
"If {the memories} were a joy to you, they are yours to keep. Other memories that are excruciatingly painful are yours to release." It's both-and. It's bittersweet. I'm thankful for the beautiful mess that is life, because I know that God is with me. And, He's with you too.
*I also read this article last night and was shaking my head, yes, yes, YES!
