I went through a difficult period in my late thirties. My husband was terminally ill, we were about to lose our home as he had been unable to work, and my kids and I were pretty much basket cases. As hard as it was, we walked through it. Losing my husband, relocating to the other side of the country, and struggling to get back on our feet took the next decade. It’s a time I don’t remember much about other than everything changed.
Years later, and a bit of therapy later, I realized I had spent that decade and the next one waiting for the next shoe to drop. Waiting for the next bad thing to happen. In so many ways, usually ones we often don’t see or understand, trauma conditions us to alter our expectations. It teaches us to live in silent fear, fear that the bad things will repeat over and over, fear that we will never get back to a place of joy.
What we don’t realize when trauma holds us in its grip, is that joy isn’t a place. It’s something that lives inside us. If we nurture it, if we understand that we’ve been hurt and we need to heal, joy is waiting inside us to do just that. That’s its purpose.
“I have six locks on my door, all in a row. When I go out, I lock every other one. I figure no matter how long somebody stands there picking the locks, they are always locking three.” – Elayne Boosler
And it was certainly a week. Normally I’m not a person to panic when home alone at night. I figure I have three yippy little dogs, so I’ll know if someone’s breaking in long before they get to me. What I didn’t plan on was their yipping being the source of my panic.
The other night, after finally getting to bed at an unreasonable hour, I’d hardly drifted off before all three dogs started barking. Since I thought I’d heard a noise to, I didn’t shush them. Instead, I got up, checked things out, found nothing, so attempted to go back to sleep. I’d barely drifted off again when they started back up. This time I hadn’t heard anything. It was getting closer to time to wake up than to go to sleep so I needed at least a couple of hours. I got them calmed down but before I even calmed myself down, a strange video started somewhere in the house. A video that was some girl talking about a stalker with a knife. My granddaugher, who likes to fall asleep to the TV, had left it playing. Needless to say, I wasn’t at my best the next day. Panic and no sleep will do that to me.
From the “Wow, somebody paid attention in science class” category:
Sometimes I believe there is always a way…sometimes I wish the door would close forever. Life is a complication of choices, death a clear-cut selection.
Sometimes I think now is as good a time as any…sometimes I think yesterday was easier, it held more promise, perhaps more delusion. The truth lives more in today, taking hope in its own direction.
Sometimes there are no answers…sometimes there are no questions, simply facts. I am responsible for me, no one else, even if no one recognizes me anymore.
At this point in my life, no one seeks my heart with the intensity of a lover. Many are in my heart, but they arrived there by default or have been there so long they don’t notice its walls surrounds them anymore.
I realize day by day my heart has become a city that others inhabit but no one owns…or wants to own, at least not more than a small piece of it.