"Maybe if we are surrounded in beauty, someday we will become what we see..." - Jewel
That is a quote from the first song I ever played on repeat. It was track 9 on Jewel's Pieces of Me album. I listened to it here in my office on Alexa the other day, It still made as much sense now as it did then. I am sensitive. I've always been sensitive, and I've spent my life trying to stay that way. I'm in a period of softness, sensitivity, and nurturing. I reflected on my last nursing shift in Detroit in May of 2021, before I had even left the city, I knew it had softened me. Just as Detroit had built and strengthened me in those first few years after moving to Michigan, it had softened me exactly 10 years later. Ten years prior was the height of my single-person personal growth. Having gone through a spiritual experience, or several, and being intentional about everything in my life... I felt I had healed. And I did. I had healed and become at peace with everything in my life up until that point. I felt safe in the world, I felt confident - fluid, free, balanced, strong, fierce, and ready to take on the world. 10 years later I found myself in the life I had always envisioned but faced with a new set of obstacles - the mirror that comes with intimate relationships and parenting. I've come to call it round 2 of self-discovery and self-healing. The round where the Universe gives us a chance to put to use all that we have learned about ourselves, deepen that and create new beginnings for those that will come after us.
I will not be mad at myself anymore for how I chose to handle the navigation of these obstacles, of which I had never seen. I will give myself grace for showing up, for moving through, and trusting the process. I look at life a bit differently now. I suppose 10 years, 2 serious relationships, 2 kids, 2 houses, a career change, and the loss of a parent will do that to you. My body has been in pain since I finished that last nursing shift in May of 2021. The softness I felt came from a surrender into the exhaustion of my internal and external being. I had reached the limits of my self on all levels. A limit I didn't know existed. I was humbled. Working 2 full time jobs, one part time job, traveling/commuting 2 hours, having a 1.5 year old, a 7 year old, and navigating a rocky spot in my marriage - I was tired. In hindsight, I've asked myself, why was I punishing myself? This morning, actually, I pondered on why I did that to myself. At the time, I said it was an opportunity I couldn't pass up. If I could just complete that 12 weeks - I would bring home upwards of $40,000 in 3 months. I walked in with the mentality that I could do anything for 12 weeks - we could do anything for 12 weeks. I did it alright. I did it while getting covid, working on minimal sleep, stress of working in an emergency department after not being a nurse for a year, my Mother dying, and a go-kart accident resulting in breaking my daughter's arm.
What the fuck was I thinking?
I think I was punishing myself for the illusion of being selfish for starting my own businesses and a new career, and all the risks that came along with that. I think I was also punishing myself for writing that email. It was, as if, I had to punish myself 10x over before I could forgive myself even of the smallest slights. My pre-disposition to feeling guilt ran deep and swift. Even in my healthiest era of my life, I punished myself. In the early 2010's the gym was my sanctuary of self-induced suffering, and I drank it up. I idolized my ability to handle the most ridiculous stressors and do so with a smile and wanting more. Spring of 2021 my body and mind said no more. I had found my limit, and I've been recovering ever since. My marriage has been recovering ever since.
But why was I punishing myself?
The best answer I can come up with right now is because I have associated love with punishment as long as I can remember. I literally just thought of that sitting in this chair in this moment as a wave of absolute truth and understanding washed over my body. Memories surfaced of my father taking off his leather belt, folding it in half, and asking me to bend over so he could hit me hard enough to take my breath away and leave me alone on the couch until I stopped crying. Over what? Me dropping a barbie behind his stereo, me falling off the porch and causing abrasions on the back of my entire thighs, him having an unsupported belief that I was lying despite my attempts at proving my innocence, or because it was Tuesday and he was drunk. I have vivid pictures of me sitting on the couch trying not to throw up as I attempted to choke down uncontrollable tears. God knows I didn't want "anything else to cry about" and relive that whole fucking experience. Just before he hit me, repeatedly, he would remind me that he was doing this because he loved me and wanted me to verbalize that I understood that. I was 7 years old.
On a side note: This is also why I don't want to hit my kids. Because no, we didn't all turn out fine. It takes conscious work for me to seek out a different alternative than spanking my kids. It takes work for me to not set unrealistic expectations of my children and punish them when they don't meet those expectations. It takes work for me to remain conscious while reels of my own childhood roar in the back of my brain telling me to implement power and control over listening and nurturing, but I will do this work until I don't have to do it anymore. My kids will be better for it, and I will be better for it.
I'd like to think I'm leveling up yet again - round three, the time I embrace not punishing myself for failing to meet my own un-realistic expectations as a partner and parent. A time to truly love myself unconditionally without abuse or suffering. A time of acceptance and trust.
With Grace & Gratitude...
