I Wish I Could Say It's Not True

"Most things break, including hearts. The lessons of life amount not to wisdom, but to scar tissue and callus."

Wallace Stegner
The Spectator Bird

I've been through a lot - more than most in some ways. I don't say that in a self-pitying way just as a statement of fact. I hate that my family and I have had to endure so much. When I saw the above quote it really rang a bell with me. A loud, resounding gong of a bell rattling through me.

I wish it weren't so. I wish that when I'd survived these horrible things in my life I could have ended up being purely inspirational. An example of the human spirit and inner strength that overcame these terrible times with no change in me except for positive ones. Full of wisdom.

But it isn't to be.

I am damaged. And those damages are permanent. I am changed forever in ways that aren't positive, that have left me callused and full of scar tissue. I am more fearful. Less trusting. More cynical. Less adventurous. More anxious. Less fun-loving. More of what I don't want to be. Less of what I do.

I have found over the years that people don't want to hear this truth about me. They want to only know that I'm okay. That I'm fine in spite of it all. Even though they are intelligent people and probably know down deep inside of themselves that I'm not okay. How could I be? How does one escape permanent damage with all of the crap that's gone on? I guess for them to openly know and admit that all is not fine with me makes them uncomfortable - and sometimes even annoyed. I'm always surprised by that. The lack of grace and understanding others feel about the fact that all of these horrible things have left permanent scars on my heart and mind. It makes me feel like I'm not worth it to people to know the real me - they only want to know me if I'm "fine". People are willing to accept any positive changes my suffering may have brought about, but not the negative ones.

And there have been positive changes, I'm not denying that. I have a deeper understanding of life - a bigger picture, if you will. I know what is tragic and what is not. It helps keep things in perspective. I think I'm more gracious towards others and more sympathetic and empathetic than I was before. I've learned valuable lessons about life at a relatively young age that others may never have the opportunity to learn. Most importantly, I've been able to help others simply by understanding what it is to hurt a hurt so deep and devastating that you feel like you'll never stop shaking or that you'll never be able to smile ever again or that you will never again be able to take in a full breath of air because the hurt seems to have sucked all of the oxygen out of every room you happen to be in. I understand how devastating it is to come to the full realization that you will never feel normal again. Ever.

There's value to all of that, I know.

But it still sucks.

I would still rather have my sister and my mother and my two brothers back. I would forgo all of those positive things just to have them back in my life, even for a single day.

I remember reading an interview once with Charlize Theron. She was discussing how she witnessed her mother shoot her father dead in self-defense. How she didn't want that one incident to define her - to brand her. I understand that desire. That instinct to fight the damage that sort of thing must inevitably inflict. But the truth is, it did brand her. How could it not? And it's permanent. The effects of that sort of thing are forever.

But here's what I've learned - It doesn't have to control your life - but it will define it. It will make you into someone different than you were before - good or bad.

And that can be very hard to accept.

So very hard.

And if it's hard for me to accept that about myself then maybe I should be more understanding about how hard it is for other's to accept that about me.

It's just that...sometimes I get tired of being the understanding one.

So, if you're reading this and you know someone that's been through a really rough patch, I encourage you to try to be open and honest with yourself about who this person is now. And to accept them. And love them. And to let them know that you love them. No matter what.

Missing an Old Friend

Happy Birthday Hannah. We wish you a fun birthday and a lovely 12th year. Dear Emma misses dear you.

What's next, bed bugs?

Over the weekend we had to run some errands. I put on the jeans I had worn for a couple of hours the night before when we went to a performance by the United States Marine Corp Silent Drill Team at a local high school.

I put the jeans on and within a few seconds felt a sharp pain on my knee. Then another a little higher up on my thigh. It kind of felt like maybe there was a sharp something or other stuck in the fabric and poking me. I rubbed the area a few times and even put my hand inside to feel the fabric trying to find what it was. Nothing. I got zipped up again as it was time to go and, zing! Another sharp pain behind my knee and, ouch! Another one on my calf. What the...?!

I finally ripped the jeans off and turned them inside out searching for answers and there was nothing I could feel or see. So weird. But when I looked down at my leg, sure enough, there were these little red spots where I had felt the pain. Whatever, I thought. I put on another pair of pants and off we went.

But it wasn't over. The pain was getting worse. Throbbing, shooting pain. By the time we got to Target it was hard to walk normally. Clearly, I had been bitten by something, but what? While we were there we bought some Benadryl and I knew it was only a matter of time before it got better. No biggie.

When we got out to the car, Greg asked, "What do you think it was?" I replied, "Probably some sort of spider. Maybe it got in my jeans last night at the high school." He said, "What does it feel like?" I told him it felt almost like being stung by a red ant but worse -- "It's like...it's like...I ACTUALLY had ants in my pants! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"

I crack myself up.

Emma did the obligatory, I'm-almost-13-and-I'm-stuck-with-this-loon-as-a-mom, eye-rolling and Greg just shook his head.

Seven Minutes

No, not in heaven. But it was a little heavenly I suppose...

There's a lot of crap going on right now and my anxiety level is quite high. Normally, I don't consider myself an anxious person. I can be a very stressed out person. I can be a very depressed person. I can even have some very manic moments (Usually premenstrual - it's not a bipolar thing.) where I laugh so hard I start crying or cry so hard I start laughing. (Seriously, I'm not bipolar.)

But I don't think I'm a particularly "anxious" person.

But lately....lately...yeah, pretty anxious. I keep having to remind myself to breathe. And I keep doing this thing where I lean my head back and close my eyes repeating, "Breathe Rachel. It'll be okay Rachel. Deep breaths Rachel. Think of good things Rachel. RELAX RACHEL!" and then my head springs back up, my eyes fly open and I'm all anxious again.

Last night, I was flipping through the channels and came across The Hills: A Look Back With Lauren Conrad on MTV. I've already confessed my obsession with The Hills so I don't feel the need to get into that humiliation again here. (If you'd like to read about it you can look back in the August archives under "There's Gold In Them There Hills!" )

Anyway, I stopped surfing and sat there staring at the TV and became totally engrossed in the drama. Lauren and Steven, Steven and Kristen, Lauren and Jason, Jessica and Jason. I was mesmerized. Suddenly, an obnoxious commercial break came on and I was snapped out of my trance. I looked up at the clock then looked over at Greg and said, "For the last seven minutes I didn't think about one single problem AT ALL for the first time in almost two weeks. For seven whole minutes I thought about nothing else except for Lauren and whether or not she'll get her shit together with these boys."

First, he laughed pretty hard. Then, he strongly encouraged me to keep watching. (Which he never does because he feels the need to pretend that he hates The Hills. And yet...he always makes his way upstairs on Monday nights around 10pm for some reason....hmm. Odd.)

I did continue to watch, and while I don't think it's any real solution to all that feels wrong right now, I do believe that mindless shows like that - if kept in perspective (I know it's not going to win a frickin' Emmy) - can be a gift. An escape. And at this point, I'll take whatever I can get.

What I've Learned This Past Week

This past week has been full of ups and downs. I've learned a few things:

1) People are a pain in the ass.

2) People are wonderful.

3) Some people will do almost anything not to face the horribly scary path that their children are on.

4) My daughter is a strong and wise girl. Her heart breaks, but she still finds laughter in the midst of it all.

5) I fear that I will never fully trust anyone ever again if this sort of shit keeps happening.

6) Prayer has helped me get through this situation much better than the last time this happened when I couldn't bring myself to pray at all. It has made it abundantly clear that I need to start praying about that situation finally. Maybe it will make it stop hurting once and for all.

7) I feel more strongly than ever in my resolve to be who I want to be no matter who the other person chooses to be. I will continue to strive for kindness and a loving attitude in the face of irrationality and cruelty. It ain't easy but it's the right thing for me.

8) I'm so very thankful for the people in my life that restore my faith in family and friendship.

9) Sometimes a big brownie, cuddling with a cat and watching a good movie does solve everything - for a couple of hours anyway.

10) I need to strengthen myself physically so I am stronger when stressful situations come along. I will be signing up for that fitness class. I need it. I deserve it.

Wonder what this coming week will teach me?

With High Hopes

I've decided that when the next paycheck comes in this weekend I'm going to go out and buy a bottle of champagne. And I'm going to bring that bottle home and put it in the refrigerator right away so that it's chilled and ready to pop open for when we get some good news to celebrate. And I'm thinking that it doesn't even have to be stunningly great news like a new job or winning the lottery or a someone giving us an around-the-world cruise as a surprise. Maybe it will just be that Emma got a great grade on a tough test. Or that I finally hung some pictures up around the house. Or that the weather was nice enough and my foot pain-free enough to take a long walk.

And yes, I will admit that there's a part of me wondering if this just means that the bar is set real low for us right now. But I'm not wondering about that enough to stop me from inviting hope for celebration in my life. I have hope.

That's a great thing.

I'm Working On Complaining Less and Saying Thank You More

The house needs cleaning. It always needs cleaning. That fact is hard for someone like me to accept. I like to make lists. Lots of lists. Make a list, complete a project and then cross that task off the list with flourish. But the cleaning never ends. You get it done and then it gets dirty again (rather quickly it seems) and then you have to do it again. It's the same with exercise for me. It never ends. You have to do it regularly and frequently. FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE.

I'm better with finite tasks. Come up with a project, plan for the project, shop for the project, schedule the project, start the project, complete the project and then...and then! Scraaatchhh that item off your list. Ahh, the satisfaction is palpable.

But oh, the cleaning. The horrible, dreaded cleaning that consumes my mind. Consuming because although I hate to clean, I immensely enjoy a clean house. I love walking into a room and seeing shiny surfaces, dust free corners, spotless rugs, breathing deep and smelling that fresh, just cleaned smell. Love it, love it, love it. But it eludes me. I get discouraged and frustrated with the other creatures in the house that seem hell-bent on undoing all that I do. Sometimes, on a bad day, I think it's maliciousness, but mostly I think it's just carelessness or thoughtlessness or simply being oblivious to the mess.

Just a few days ago I was sitting around trying to muster up the energy to clean the bathroom. And resenting the hell out of it. Wishing that I could afford a housekeeper. Thinking about how much better the quality of my life would be to just have the damn cleaning taken care of. To be able to stop thinking about it for the first time in my life. To just have it DONE. For heaven's sake, is that asking so much?!

That afternoon, I decided to watch Oprah. How to describe the images...people like me, people like Greg, people like my sweet Emma...

They were living in homeless shelters, in tents, in their cars, in their offices. They had lost their jobs, their cars, their homes and all but the barest of their belongings. These were good people - hardworking people - people that just had one too many things go wrong for them. One more maybe than me or you.

It was sobering, of course. Scary. This past year has been rough for us, as it has been for so many others. But by the grace of God we've been able to keep our home. A home with four bedrooms, two and a half baths, dining room, living room, kitchen and a big back yard with deck. And every inch of it has been moaned over, bitched about and neglected to some degree. All because I hate to clean, Greg hates to work on our house after working other peoples' houses all day and Emma simply refuses to pick up after herself - her one area of complete stubbornness.

So, as I sat on my bed watching these people on Oprah - a boy who knew just getting a cake would be a lucky thing for his eleventh birthday, a woman who cried over how dirty her fingernails always were now, a mom desperately trying to keep her young children away from the male population at the shelter they stayed in, a couple that used the shower at the local fitness gym because there wasn't one in their office that has now become their home.

As I watched these people I was humbled. And mortified. And ashamed. Not of them, but of myself. Embarrassed that I had the nerve to complain about having to clean my house when I knew that these people - and thousands of others like them - would do almost anything to have what I have. To have the "problems" that I have. How dare I lament the lack of a housekeeper. What a spoiled brat I am. The only thing keeping me from having the clean home that I want is my own complete and utter laziness.

I promptly got off the bed and went and cleaned the bathroom.

Happily.

With joy.

Yes, JOY people. Complete and utter joy to be cleaning the toilet. My toilet. The one that I own. And two others just like it.

What an absolute privilege. One that I'll never take for granted again.