Asters & Dandelions

All of you know I am no stranger to shining light on the dark places my mind often takes me. As I enter my third decade of life, I still find myself dancing with the demons in my mind. I find myself finding comfort in beautiful dark words written on pages, performed in music, and bravely spoken by mouth. I find myself feeling empathy of the ones who’s lives have been taken far too soon by their own hand; imagining how many times my life stood at the very cusp of that ultimate darkness. This is not yet another love letter I write to that same old friend but instead a love letter to myself, my children, my marriage. As many people as there are in this world dancing with demons not unlike my own, there are equally as many reasons why people like you and I continue to reach for that light just beyond the darkness.

I have spoken before on how I long thought much of my young life had been normal. It was not until I could see the trajectory of how the series of disasters that defined my childhood played out I was able to see the very abnormal time of my life my childhood had been. As I look back and understand, I have equal parts gratitude for the weight I was born into crushing me down into the strength of the diamond I stand as today and resentment for the pile of rubble I existed as beneath such weight as a child.

Ten years ago I stood as a well intended, stubborn in spite, young adult with no idea what I wanted to become of my life other than the opposite of what I had known. That young adult who married another young adult equipped with their own closet of neatly hung skeletons had no idea how to be her own person; yet alone support another equally clueless young adult through life. Looking back now, I see a young woman standing tall in the front lines of the battlefield of self identity armed with only insecurities of every bad name and expectations her parents ever spoke to her and unhealthy coping mechanism she had developed along the way.

Three years ago I stood as a seasoned mother and wife slightly slouched by the weight of the shell of normalcy she had been hiding under the past seven years. Despite knowing what I thought “happiness” and “success” looked like, I was unable to achieve it. Every Pinterest recipe and craft with my children, every word spoken and love filled notes written to my husband made them feel my love, my “happiness”, my “success” yet only I carried the weight of the truth that I still identified as an unaccomplished, unfulfilled [insert insult of choice spoken from the lips an addict]. After losing 100lbs and being the closest I had ever been to convincing myself I was on the cusp of normalcy, I decided joining the army would help alleviate my poor self image and nagging weight of my self perceived lack of accomplishment.

Here I stand ten years into my marriage, nearly as long on my journey through motherhood, and halfway through my first contract in the army on what may be the hardest journey I have walked yet: the journey to my own self awareness.

You know when you twist your ankle or get a cut and say to yourself “It’s not that bad”? We’ve all done it. Minimizing our pain as a way to continue moving forward; but at what point does this minimization come at too high a cost? I find myself navigating through pitch black caves and caverns with enough tunnels the bats and demons themselves find themselves lost within the maze. Thirty years of “It’s not that bad”. Thirty years of numbing pain for so long you have a hard time identifying any emotions at all. Are the butterflies actually red flags? Is the anger actually resentment? Is the sadness actually lack of fulfillment? I may never know the answers to many of my internal questions but until very recently, I never even asked.

Living my entire life armed with only unhealthy, self taught coping mechanisms was much like walking on broken glass. Sure it sounds painful but if you’ve done it for thirty years, your feet aren’t exactly tender. They’re tough and seasoned for the angular and harsh terrain aside from the occasional shards angled just right, sharpened and ready to trigger an injury. Six months ago I wouldn’t have stopped walking despite the pain of the trigger. “Don’t acknowledge it and keep going; eventually the body will absorb the glass and it will be as if it never happened” my ill seasoned mind would say to me. Of course we know that’s not how injuries work. Three decades of allowing the shards of glass to enter my body and never extracting them and healing from the injury left me lost, confused in my own emotions. It left my own boundaries frail and breakable, my self respect belittled and squandered.

Making the choice to become more self aware was not as simple as moving to a softer terrain to soothe my tough seasoned feet. It of course began by extracting each shard one by one. I would be lying if I said I write this post with no more shards of trauma, mistakes, regret, shame, guilt, and irrational self loathing and hatred. I am still slowly extracting the shards piece by piece. The daunting truth is that removing the glass is only the beginning. After extraction comes the real work; the healing. I must first find those deep shards my body healed over in an attempt to survive and extract them. But what is the use of extracting them only to leave an open wound untreated? Instead of leaving these wounds open to infection, I must now heal them; clean the wounds through therapy, tough conversations, self reflection and so many tears.

This journey is a long one; full of obstacles and wrong choices. The task is daunting in it’s own right. Add into it a husband who you unintentionally hid your demons from for over a decade, children who do not know or understand your journey but are aware of your travels, and a workplace playing the perfect melody to make your demons dance and rejoice in it. On this journey I find myself equal parts driver and passenger. I both lead my own journey and am at the mercy of where it may take me.

As I find myself lost within this maze I have created of numbness and lack of self awareness, I need only to look up. As I reflect on my life as a child, my memories are much like driving down a long road; I can only see the individual trees and buildings we passed. It is not until much later in life I am able to see the entire journey and all the wrong turns that were made and dead ends that were hit; only to leave me far from home yet still wandering and lost. This version of me now still has bits of that young adult, well intended and stubborn in spite and I refuse to be the person delivering the sights of the trees and buildings to my children only for them to grow to see the entire journey was taken in vein. They will still look back as adults and see many of my wrong turns and dead ends but they will not see them from a place of still being lost. My long road of self awareness will not only bring me, but my beautiful family of passengers, to a meaningful and worthy destination.