It is quiet here this morning, as it should be, for a change. No construction noises, for starters. The kids are nestled in their beds (in their own rooms now!) doing the whole "hey-I'm-a-teenager-and-I-require-a-thousand-hours-of-sleep-because-I'm-worn-out-from-being-lazy-and-doing-absolutely-nothing" sleeping thing. Even the dogs are lounging here at my feet.
All I hear are a couple of birds through the open window and the hum of my fan. Well, and an occasional Pug snore.
I should be doing laundry---it's piled pretty high---but seriously I cannot bring myself to ruin this moment.
Because the silence is absolutely exquisite.
And this silence----not only of the surroundings, but also in my mind, and my gut, and my soul----are sweetly foreign to me.
My life up to this point has been eventful and emotional and eventfully emotional and emotionally eventful and every possible concoction of these two words. I had a horrible early childhood. The breadth of my teen years was an ensuing trauma. In my efforts to escape all that nearly ruined me, I jumped into 'adult' situations very early; and was married at 18 and with two children by the age of 21. By age 23 I was a military veteran, a Navy wife, mother of two, full-time student----and trying to fullfill all of these duties never having known the feeling of a parent's love, and never having known or felt that I was reasonably safe in this world.
And so I raged! It was me against the world; for I had it in my mind that everyone in it was out to abuse, reject or gravely disappoint me the way that the adults in my life had literally since my first cognitive memory. Fiercley and dangerously protective of my own husband and children as well as myself, I am certain that people in my life at the time were convinced I was insane because they could never reach me any further than the defenses I put up. And yet at the same time, I howled and wailed for a love they were incapable of giving me no matter how hard they may have tried. And when they inevitably disappointed me because they couldn't fill that horrible void, I panicked, fled, raged, revenged, fought and hurt them because I had learned to bite this imaginary keeper of my cage.
And yet, despite that awful internal conflict, the anger and resentment I felt were incredible motivators to achieve and conquer. My body was strong! My mind and wit were sharp! My achievements plentiful and noteworthy! I made sure that I was always the winner in this battle I unknowingly fought against myself. I used that constant flow of adrenaline to survive and fight back in all of the ways I was too helpless to as a child.
I call those years, "The Crazy Times."
I am not certain what specific event, if any, marked the end of that "era". Several events took place during a short amount of time---watching the death of my father in law, being in D.C. during the 9/11 attacks and losing people we actually knew, my brother's deployment to Afghanistan, the purchase of our first home, the death of my grandfather, the loss of a pregnancy, and then the preparation and deployment of my husband to Special Forces in Iraq.
The culmination of these events, for lack of a better term, knocked the wind out of my sails. So much of my life prior to this was spent living within myself and/or with my children that I had successfully distracted myself from the goings-ons "out there".
And so it was a shock to my system, I think, to step out of my own little sphere of saftey (resulting from the Crazy Times) and into another sphere of danger, violence, death, and yes.....
more loss.
You see, I had gone from being the Crazy Master Of My Own Created (and safe!) Universe!-- to--- I Am Not the Master Because the Universe Is Suddenly Dishing Out More Stuff I Can't Control And That Really Scares Me! in just a couple of years.
And then on top of that, I got sick. Found out I had Lupus.
I was too sick to rage. Too tired to fight. Too smart now and experienced to continue on waging war within myself. Too scared, really, to do much at all. I suppose you could say I became depressed and anxious. My self-esteem began to decline as my physical body showed the signs of my illness. I went from being able to work out for three hours a day to sometimes not being able to open a jar from the joint pain. I lost my hair and gained weight.
And I was unbelievably tired. The kind of tired where your very soul wants to sleep. So not only was I sick with Lupus, but I believe with every fiber that my body was trying to tell me,
"That's enough. I'm done. It's all just been too much."
I call those years, "The Bad Times". Not very creative I know; but really what other way is there to put it?
And then, very gradually, I suppose nature (as She always does) led me down a different path. Wisdom, age, the understanding of grace and patience, and most importantly acceptance became much clearer. In the past whenever being told to "accept" things/life/the past, etc. I would get so angry because I didn't understand how in the world I was supposed to accept such great pain and so much loss. I equated "acceptance" with "giving up" and with "defeat".
But as I said, gradually the idea of acceptance began to make sense. I wish I could tell you how or when it happened, but I can't. It wasn't some overnight thing or some big ephiphany I had while cooking dinner. It wasn't some miraculous overturning of all prior beliefs; nor was it some life altering event that helped me to "see the light".
All's I know is that at some point I decided that---as stupid as it sounds---I don't need to "win" my life. I already have, simply because I have the power to make my own choices now. It is alright to grieve the times where I did not have that power, and choices were made for me that hurt me. It is alright to rage against the people I trusted as a child to make safe choices for me. It is even alright to grieve the years when I was incapable of making better choices because I simply did not know another way.
It is alright to cry for all of the things I have never had, and for all of the things I so desperately needed.
But it not alright to hate myself, or wage a one-man war against all perceived threats, imagined or real. I did not deserve what happened to me, nor did I ask for it. If I had another alternative, or known differently, I would have made better choices for myself. Of course I would have---most of us make our choices based on the information we are presented.
But the fact is, I didn't know. I didn't know anything as a I child. I didn't know how to do much as a young adult without guidance. I certainly did the best I could through the Crazy and Bad Times based on my experiences and the information I had. Of this I am confidant. I have always done the very best I have known how to do.
So haven't I already won? Only I can decide that. Only I set those standards.
I believe this 'emotional evolution' led me here to this beautiful place. Never in a million years would I have wanted to come here during the Crazy or the Bad Times. Those eras simply led me here. To the silence---where it is quiet in every way something can be quiet. The tears simply don't fall as much these days because frankly, there isn't much pain left to cry over. I either cried it all out of my system, or have learned to cope differently. I don't hate myself anymore for being sick. I don't blame myself anymore for events or people I have no control over.
I am simply responsible for myself and my choices.
And when I let the rest fall away, I find that my life---like this morning---
is silent.
It is absolutely exquisite.