The "Why" of Things

I don't know if is age or faith, but I am hitting a point where discovering the "why" of things isn't as important to me. 

This revelation came to me in the car last night. I was listening to music. There were lyrics that were really speaking to me, calming in a way that I tried to describe to myself. Slowly I realized that I didn't need to have that inner dialog about why the words were calming. It didn't matter what the reasons behind my emotional reactions were.

That is wildly strange for me. I have named and analyzed nearly every emotion and thought that has run through my brain for years. About fifteen years ago I began therapy to deal with the abuse that occurred when I was younger, as well as to stop what I saw as destructive behaviors. Honestly, that was mostly about my weight. I knew that I was eating as a coping mechanism and I wanted to stop doing that. The self discovery was amazing and I don't regret a moment of it. Being asleep and not acknowledging what you are feeling is a sad way to live. I think, though, that I may have swung too far away from being asleep and gotten into being hyper vigilant. I find myself over-analyzing and over-thinking far too much of what happens in my life. My weight has fluctuated a lot throughout the process, but the person that I am has only gotten stronger. Calmer too.

I keep thinking back to when God told me "hush". It made me realize that I do waste valuable time trying to figure stuff out. Getting to the very bottom of emotions is a never ending and pointless task. Not only is it life sucking, it is also exhausting.

I'm tired of tiring myself out with worry.

My daughter is 25 years old. She lives at home, has a college degree, and suffers from depression and anxiety. After a couple of years of working low wage jobs she is currently unemployed and writing a novel. She pays rent, she pays her expenses, and she frets about living at home at 25. Up until yesterday I worried about her a lot. I worried that she would live at home for the rest of her life and never experience life outside of the nest. 

I realized yesterday that one of my main worries is what everyone else must think about us, about me as a mother who apparently can't get her child to grow up and leave. Once I named that fear I decided that it doesn't matter. There are all types of lives and life stories and ways of getting from the cradle to the grave. I can't control what other people think. I like having her here, and if this is the decision she wants to make about how and where to live her life then okay. I am not interested in navigating her life choices for her. I hard a difficult enough time with my own that I don't need to be directing hers. 

She is going to be okay regardless, just as I am okay despite the difficulties and challenges of my life. Or maybe I am okay because of the difficulties and challenges. That's something else I no longer feel the need to analyze.

I am just going to enjoy the music that plays in my life. I'll control the few things I can control and I'll let go of what I can't. 

I am a little clearer now on which is which.

My Husband (edited)

The other day I took a shower following my late afternoon workout. It was time to make dinner and I didn't feel like getting "dressed dressed" if you know what I mean - back into the jeans and top I had worn that day. So I took out an over-sized t-shirt and a pair of baggy jammie pants, and put them on. Staring into the bathroom mirror with my hair dripping wet I thought "wow", and not in a good way. I decided that the least I could do was dry my hair with the hair dryer and not let it air dry as is my normal routine. 

Even after that, I was not looking my best.

I thought about my husband working in his office down the hall and wondered if I should make more of an effort. Does he get tired of seeing me in my comfortable clothes? There was only one way to find out.

Trot trot trot down the hall. 

I stepped into his office and said "Honey, will you please tell me LONG before you get tired of seeing me in oversized t-shirts and baggy pants?"

He looked at me - looked me up and down actually - and said "I will never get tired of seeing you. Period."

TWO DAYS LATER

When I published the above post I knew it wasn't finished, but I didn't know where else to go with it so I simply stopped. His comment speaks for itself, with no need for explanation or elaboration. 

Later on that evening my daughter and I were contentedly watching tv. The house was calm and peaceful and life was good. And then my husband came home from work. He has been involved in the opening of a new business for almost a year now and things are coming down to the wire. He had spent the entire day putting out fires, crossing t's and dotting i's, and he was completely wound up when he barreled through the door.

I wanted him to relax. I wanted him to come home, collapse, and feel happy, safe, and loved. That is not what happened. He was manic and couldn't turn off, or least he couldn't turn off as quickly as I wanted him to. Within ten minutes of him walking in the door I was completely unglued.

Our daughter had casually mentioned that she was thinking of moving in with her cousin and my husband was totally against the idea. He barely let her finish her sentence before he was all over her telling her what a poor idea it was because she could just stay with us as long as she wants and she should save up her money and they might get in a fight and then what and on and on and on. I reacted to his immediate negative reaction and we blew up from there.

Happy scene of domestic bliss.

As much as my husband is the man of wonderful loving words, he is also the guy who fixes things. He had spent all day giving orders and solving problems, and it is completely unreasonable to think he can simply turn that off once he walks in the door.

When all I focus on is that part of him - the manager - I get triggered and fight with him. I wish that in the heat of the moment I would take a breath and remember the parts of him that I love. If I were to do that, there would be far fewer heats of the moment. I don't like getting upset like that. I really don't like that he came home from a challenging day at work and entered a challenging night at home.

If there's a secret to remembering the good in the moments when it's not so good, I'd like to know it. Fortunately in quiet moments like this I can edit my husband and remember the words of love to the exclusion of all else.

I think that is how we've stayed together so long. He edits out my over-sized t-shirts and baggy pants, and I edit out his manager mode.

Forgiveness

When Jesus was asked how many times we should forgive our brothers he replied "I do not say to you, up to seven times, but up to seventy times seven".

When I was a young child I was molested. For the past forty years as the memory has crossed my mind I have been given the opportunity to forgive the man responsible. In the beginning, that wasn't even a possibility. As I got older I came to a place of acceptance and played around with forgiveness. What I'm discovering after all this time is that every time I think of what happened I have to forgive him all over again. Occasionally it happens simultaneously with the first thoughts, but more often than not it is a process. The wounds are there; the pain is there. I feel the hurt of betrayal and, when I can, I forgive once more. Seventy times seven times. 

This is what I think about when I want to feel virtuous about forgiveness. I avoid thinking about the fact that I just unfriended someone on Facebook because I can't forgive her. What has she done, you ask? Nothing. She has done nothing. She hasn't answered texts or emails, and she hasn't reached out to me in almost a year. We were close friends at one time and then we weren't, with no explanation. It is as if she simply forgot about me. I am not even up to one time forgiving her.

I unfriended her on Facebook because I decided that I didn't want to be presented with all of those opportunities to forgive her. If I don't see her or hear about her - we don't have any mutual friends - then I don't have to think about her or feel hurt again. This is ugly business on my part. I am holding on to this grudge with both hands, with both feet firmly planted in the ground. I will not be moved.

And for this, I need forgiveness.

Poured Into

It's 1:15 a.m. The house is quiet. My mind, not so much.

I felt my Mother's presence today. Although gone for nineteen years she undeniably came here for me today.

Life has been tough lately. I may have mentioned that. The demands on my energy are many, and although I do things for me they sometimes become just one more thing to check off of the daily to do list. Truly I am trying so hard to stop trying so hard but ...

But.

Yes, but.

I needed to be poured into. As I felt her love pour into me, I laid my head down on the table where I was sitting and I wept. Just as I received the incredible gift from a couple weeks ago I allowed myself to receive the gift of her love pouring into me. 

It was a powerful thing, and I am glad I didn't turn away or shoo away her memory when I first realized she was there. I've put up some walls where she is concerned, been angry at her more often than not, but she came anyway. She filled up the spaces around me, and then she touched my head and told me everything would be okay. 

I've done that for my child. It's what mothers do. It's what parents do.

And if I let him,I bet it's what God wants to do too.