2.0

She trembles when touched. She is timid when snuggling. She stiffens when unexpected attention is shown to her. She sulks and hides when her feelings are hurt. She is as tough and scrappy as she is sensitive. She is afraid to be loved and known. And yet, that is all she wants. 

Even though she has known love, the traumas of her young life stunt her ability to believe love is real. She simply doesn't trust it. Doesn't know she is worthy of it. 

I wish I were only referring to Merry, but deep inside I know that I am also writing about myself. This dog is somehow exposing my own shame and fears better than any therapist ever did. It is like having a 1000-watt light bulb glaring into my dark heart. It will either blind me forever or finally give me 20/20 vision, your guess is as good as mine.

Having time off from my normal workaholic state brings me face to face with the things I am purposely too busy to confront on the daily. Tonight, near the end of an incredibly heartbreaking and beautiful year, I find myself sitting in silence, haunted by buried things fighting to make their way to the surface. Powerless over the havoc they could wreak in my life, yet strangely curious if they can help Robin 2.0 finally emerge. 

Maybe there is hope for Merry and me. The jury is still out, but I am determined to try to teach her how to accept love, and maybe learn how myself.

Triggered Forward

This past week I had a few negative experiences that scared and "triggered" me (gosh I hate that word!) so much that I am having trouble coping in a healthy way. It has mostly manifested as rage so intense that I scared myself, and my dog this morning when I lost my S#@$ after she tracked mud into my house. Zeus doesn't like to get muddy, but Merry is rough and tumble and does not care if she is dirty. It was insignificant, on par with spilled milk, but I was completely infuriated as if she had purposely done it to enrage me. Like, hello Clayton, she's a DOG. Duh. I should be nice, because before long she will be the only dog I have, but I was a total nightmare. I knew it wasn't her fault, but I exploded. As I knew, and she didn't, the rage stemmed from a few scary incidents last week. 

I'll limit details but will say that one involved a man who followed me into a convenience store. He was so aggressive that I was completely mute, paralyzed with fear, and terrified, enough that I wished I had a weapon, and I never wish for that. The other involved a creepy, probably drunk man at an event. He would not leave me alone and as the night wore on, it dredged up terrible memories that are still unsettling my tummy. As much as I hate the word, I was most certainly "triggered". In my mind, those men became the monsters of my past and the experiences morphed into insurmountable obstacles that left me sleepless and incapable of thinking rationally, as the dog discovered this morning.  

Life has never afforded me much safety or protection. That has made me hard at times, and often deeply anxious. Do I have to live through more unspeakable, no-good, rotten things? Will I be left to pick up MORE pieces of my life? Because fifty years is plenty of picking up, IMHO. And then I look into the mirror and find myself puzzled. I am not a gorgeous woman rocking a great body. I hoped I was invisible so men would leave me alone. But even with excess weight, graying hair, and wrinkles the perverts and creeps still find me, the nice ones never do.  

This weekend I was numb, resigned, and exhausted. I just wanted to cry, curl up in a ball, SLEEP, and somehow escape the fear, but I couldn't. Instead, I sat, acutely aware of how powerless I was to protect myself. I know humans are vulnerable to the depraved and heinous actions of other humans. We blame God, but in reality, we do it to each other. Our lives can be snuffed out or dramatically altered on the whim of someone else. Just look at the news today. Or the news of the past. No wonder Jesus was called a man of sorrows. This is a sorrowful world and I KNOW I cannot protect myself, or those I love from all of the terrible things. I have known that since I was three and continue to know it at fifty-three. Thankfully, I was only triggered last week, not assaulted or abused, but it was enough to bring the things that haunt me into focus.

So here is what I want, and what I will seek - I WANT to be triggered FORWARD to peace, safety, love, and grace instead of BACKWORD to the horrors of the past. God's mercies are new every morning, and I know that tomorrow will bring enough to carry me through the fear to peace. I may be too hard on myself and not believe I am worth much, but deep down I KNOW that I am one determined, badass woman, so tomorrow I will pull myself together, go to work, hang out with friends, find hope and strength in my faith, and DEFINITELY look into a self-defense course, because apparently I need one.

 

Weeping Hearts

Weeping hearts are weary in my part of the world tonight. A month ago, our community faced a shocking loss. A young loss. An out-of-order loss. He was only 51. His parents were not supposed to outlive him. He was supposed to grow old with his wife. Raise his boys. Enjoy grandkids and retirement. Instead, his wife finds herself a young widow. His boys are fatherless. His parents lost one of their babies, and his brothers are now three instead of four. 

Much like the birth of a relationship or a baby, the birth of grief is measured in hours, days, weeks, months, and years. The milestones are somber and stained with bitter tears. Hope is buried underneath the shock of coming face to face with mortality. Weeping hearts bounce uncontrollably between regret, memories, and shattered dreams. Bodies may carry on with the daily rituals of sleeping, eating, working, paying bills, and raising families, but the loss lacerates the heart. The only option is to put one heavy foot in front of the other on the long, winding road to accepting the unacceptable. The flood of tears may subside and eyes may dry, but hearts will always weep.

                                 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bearing witness to another's grief is a sacred undertaking. As a Christian, I believe we will be whole in heaven, perfectly content in eternity, and reunited with our maker and each other. But it doesn't stop my heart from weeping this side of heaven because death is final, and grief is the unavoidable aftermath. Whether you believe in God and heaven or not, the terrible reality is that immortality is a myth. Souls may live on in another realm, but not with those remaining here on earth, their hearts weep. Despite my own fresh grief intermingled with the stirrings of past grief, I want nothing more than to take away everyone's pain, to bear their grief for them because I know what is coming. If I could I would snap my fingers or wiggle my nose and make it so, but it just doesn't work that way. 

One of the songs we sang at the funeral last week was called "Rest" by Matt Maher. There is nothing weeping hearts need more than rest. Rest from wondering why. Rest from wondering what could have been. Rest from missing someone so much. 

May those grieving tonight find rest for their souls and weary hearts in the One who begs us to rest in Him. Lord have mercy.

  

Mommy Dear(est) Daughter Dear(est)

Today is hard.  In fact, Mother's Day hasn't been easy since 1998 when I was told it was nearly impossible for me to bear children.  It was the deepest grief in my life until Mother's Day 2021 when my mom spoke her last intentional words to me.  She had stopped eating and drinking the previous week and most of her time was spent sleeping or staring vacantly while my dad and I kept her company.  I was playing her favorite worship music, fussing over her, rubbing her feet, holding her tiny hands, and telling her over and over that I loved her, which had always been difficult for me.  Suddenly she stirred and spoke clearly, in a strong voice that we had not heard for years.  Although private, her words were a gift and left me in a puddle of tears.  

The years preceding her final breath were intense and stressful.  There was not a lot of time to contemplate what life would look like when she was gone.  In fact, in the earlier stages of caregiving, I was fairly certain that I would not miss her much, if at all.  I was wrong.  Two years later, I miss her MORE.  Maybe because every day as an orphan makes me more acutely aware of my singleness and childlessness. Maybe because my parents were the glue in my family and I feel rudderless now. There are many more reasons, but the most important one is that I found healing and redemption in caring for her and loving her in the ways I wished she could have loved me, and I wanted more time to rebuild our relationship.  

She died the next Sunday in 2021 and I shudder now at the ugliness that was in my heart, the arrogance in thinking I wouldn't miss her.  The stupidity of holding onto the wounds of the past at the expense of making happy memories in the present, of refusing to see my own culpability in our troubled relationship.  Many times throughout my life she was Mommy Dearest, and many other times I was Daughter Dearest, albeit without the wire hangers.  But at the end she was simply my dear mother, and I was her dear daughter.  As hard as her last years were, I am forever grateful that God's mercy gave me a chance to heal from our tougher years before it was too late.  Time is short and ultimately life and death are the most important things.  So today I planted some living things in her honor.  Plants that I HOPE I can keep alive and nuture better than I was able to care for her.  

Reinventing Robin

Today was a hard day.  I said goodbye to several people who have been part of my daily life for 11 years. It was excruciating in so many ways, and premature because I was emotionally prepared to do it next week, but alas, that was not meant to be. Guess it was fitting that today was Friday the 13th.  As the last of my personal items were loaded into my car, hugs were exchanged, and tears were shed, I started the engine and drove away for the last time.  Thankful for Bluetooth and modern technology, I had my car call Laurie, who always lets me cry, rage, talk, and vent until I get ahold of myself.  Believe me, I needed the moral support at that point.

Leaving Ability was not easy, it was a privilege to be part of an Agency that focuses on disadvantaged, special needs kids.  I love my co-workers, the therapists, nurses and what it stands for, and I always will. But at the ripe old age of 52, soon to be 53, and 35 years in health care, I knew it was time to reinvent myself. 

The past 11 years have been A LOT.  I had delicate neck surgery, got laid off, started this job, survived being trapped in a burning building the next week, complete with a dramatic rescue (is it any wonder why I have a sweet spot for firefighters?), spent months recovering, worked a lot, traveled (my favorite!), began the caregiving chapter for my parents, bought a house, developed pulmonary hypertension and early heart failure from a birth defect, RECOVERED, developed POTS, learned I have Hypermobile Ehler's Danlos, fell A LOT, tore my rotator cuff, entered into long-term physical therapy (Thanks Mike, and Jorge, the only other person I let help me when Mike is out), lost both of my parents, closed their estate, had a car accident and then near mental breakdown with so much anxiety I thought I was going to have to admit myself, had a break in, paid WAY too much for plumbing repairs and security, and resigned from my job.  (I'm purposely ignoring COVID, some other painful things, and inflation, because BLEH.....)  No wonder I need to spend several days sleeping and not being beholden to anyone or anything else.  

I'm sure you can relate; it seems like everyone I know is dealing with too much and more than they ever asked to or thought they could handle.  It's gets old after a while, and it messes with you on a very deep level.  I keep reminding my friends, AND myself, that although God may give us more than WE can handle, he NEVER, EVER gives us more than HE can handle.  For that I am grateful.

I'm choosing to see the unexpected days off between jobs as a gift and plan to read a lot, workout a lot, sleep as much as humanly possible, eat lots of lunches with lots of friends, enjoy lots of dinners with lots of friends, sleep some more, shop, get a manicure, maybe a facial, and do whatever I want, whenever I want before starting my new job with a landscape architecture firm.  

I am excited, hopeful, really drained from an emotional week, tired from a few months of not sleeping thanks to the pervert who broke into my home, and kind of in awe that my new employers are excited to have me join them and I get to learn a new industry and make my mark at a new job regardless of my age.

God has continued to work wonders in my life, despite my best attempts to thwart him, and I hope you can stop and see when and how he does the same in yours. So, although I shun New Year's resolutions, I resolve to be excited for new beginnings, find joy despite my circumstances, make better decisions that are in MY best interest, keep finding my voice, set better boundaries, and dream again.  May 2023 bring you the same.  You've got this!  And as my new necklace says (thank you Christy for knowing and loving me so well) - You're Enough (and I'm adding this P.S.: when you're not, Jesus IS.)