Displaying items by tag: selflove

Once in a while, it can be reaffirming to travel back in time to a point in our life that seemed devastatingly hard in order to see a clearer version of just how far we’ve come. After all, progress would not happen without pain. Growth would not happen without suffering.  

The end of the year brings with it reflections and a look back into the past. I have been thinking back to how much inward progress I have made since my divorce in 2021. This isn’t meant to be a humble brag, only a promise of hope to anyone who has or is going through what seemed like the worst time of your life. These “worst times” changed me for the better. What follows is meant to be inspiring for anyone experiencing the kind of devastation that makes them question its ending and wondering if they will ever see the light at the end of the tunnel. 

There have been very few Christmases that I haven’t spent with my family in Pennsylvania. Growing up in a small town, the holidays were some of the highlights of my childhood. A crisp morning greeted us on the short walk to the humming car, pre-heated and all ice crystals melted from the windshield. The air smelled fresh and clean, as if the snow and cold hit a reset button on the usual scents of, where I grew up, nearby cattle farms.

Two years ago, in December of 2021 I spent the Christmas and New Year’s holidays by myself, exploring the countryside and cities of North Carolina, searching for places to feel like I belonged, for a place I could call my home. It was a tumultuous time for me. I was still grieving and trying to heal from the loss of my husband and my life in an unexpected divorce. My heart leaked with failure, depression, and pain. My mind urged me to run far away from the pain and memories of my past. 

I was probably 12 or 13 years old when it started. I was sitting at the kitchen table in my childhood home, feeling left out, depressed, and envious. Nanny was in the living room with my younger sister and brother, and they were joking and giggling about something. I don’t recall what they were laughing about, and I don’t think it was at my expense, but at that moment I told myself no one loved me and I didn’t belong. 

“You must give up the life you planed in order to have the life that is waiting for you.” Joseph Campbell

When I got married, I thought my life was going to be predictable. My husband and I had our own hobbies, habits, routines, and traditions that we introduced to each other and we were starting our own together. I enjoyed cooking and baking new healthy food from the YouTube channels I watched, I did Yoga, and I worked out probably way too much. My husband played Magic the Gathering online and in person, went fishing, played other video games, and was part of the Men’s rugby league in our city. We were both teachers and had the same days and summers off. Every few years we would go to the Florida Keys to fish, snorkel, and kayak. We visited our family in the summer and at Christmas. His parents would come to spend Thanksgiving with us. I couldn’t imagine, nor did I want to imagine, anything other than that. It was familiar, comfortable, and safe.

I’ve written on the topic of finding meaning in things that seem hopeless before, but I wanted to revisit with some more of my own thoughts, insights, and realizations that I have discovered over the last few months.

Hamlet asked the question, “To be or not to be,” but these days, our question can be summed up in one small but powerful word: “Why?” We can’t stop asking it.

Why do people die before we think they should?

Why couldn’t my marriage survive?

Why did I get cancer?

We ask why when we encounter any of the things that interfere with our plan, our health, and our dreams for our future.

That’s where faith, hope, and sometimes religion comes in. We need hope for better things to get through the rough times, the sad times, the confusing times, and the painful times. I believe that without hope, people can lose their will to live. But hope is just one part of the “Why” equation.

Day one

As soon as I stepped out into the 40-degree morning and saw my breath leave my body, I felt like I could live there. The plane ride from Jacksonville to San Francisco was one of the best I’ve experienced. Even in the days of mask wearing, the trip went off without many issues, despite having a 30-minute delay on the first flight from Jacksonville to Dallas.

The Lyft driver was a friendly fellow from India who chatted pleasantly as he drove me to the Hilton Hotel in Burlingame that first night. The check-in was quick and easy, and even when my room key didn’t work when I swiped it, the front desk attendant had it quickly taken care of. I would only be staying there one night and staying with a friend the rest of my time there.

Feeling groggy from being on Eastern Standard Time, I jotted down some notes in my travel journal as I sipped my coffee in the hotel lobby the next morning. My phone dinged a notification. Thinking it was a text message, I opened it only to be reminded of “three years ago” with a picture of my husband and I out on some trail.

Throughout my personal journey towards growth and healing, there is one theme that continues to crop up on my radar. That theme is fear. Fear is arguably the one emotion that prevents human beings from accomplishing their goals, fulfilling their dreams, and achieving everything they want tin life.

Fear has been categorized as an “opposite.” It’s the opposite of love. The opposite of hope. The opposite of success. Fear holds us back. It tells us we aren’t good enough or that we will never achieve the kinds of things we want. Fear puts doubt in our minds and makes us stay the course. Afterall, life isn’t perfect and it was never promised to be perfect, but at least we are alive and healthy with the way things are.

Fear makes us cling to certain outcomes for our lives. We should stay in an unhappy relationship. We should continue to speak to our toxic friends because they have been part of our lives for years. We should continue to take the criticisms of our family members because that’s just the way it always has been.

The sway of the instructor’s hips mesmerized me. Jingling like bells, the tassels of her dress sashayed in rhythm with her hips as she twisted and turned. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her flawless figure, her precise foot fall, the way her shoulders sliced through the air as she maneuvered across the dance floor. At that moment, I fell in love with belly dancing.

     At thirty-six years old, my belly roiled with nerves about taking my first formal dance classes. I had enjoyed dancing since I first watched Britney Spears and the boy bands in middle school. When I moved to music—even if I were alone in front of my dresser mirror--a feeling of longing washed over me. When I dance to music, confidence eclipses my fears, and I move into a natural rhythm even though I have no formal training. 

I knew something changed when I looked back on the person I was a year ago and don’t even recognize her. When I think of being married, the idea is a foreign concept for me. It feels like being in the in-between-state of a dream and consciousness, not knowing quite where I am for a moment. Except I never really wake up completely. I’m constantly in the state of fog and fuzzy, the “almost aware” phase. 

You would think something like being married would be hard to forget. Afterall, I was with the person for nine years and married for four and a half. I constantly have to look down at my left hand as a reminder. The two bands of metal that once snuggly encircled the flesh are gone and my finger feels exposed and empty.