Okay, so that title is a little dramatic.
I'm okay with that, too.
We're leaving this driveway soon. We know that. Warmth, among other things.
The anxiety spikes of driving this rig, while towing our breaking van, are intense.
We don't know where we're going. Where we belong. Where we fit.
I'm feeling painfully vulnerable.
Abandoned and displaced.
Alone. So completely alone.
More then 6 months ago, my husband walked out on us. Again. As painful as it was, it was actually the absence of passionate emotion that rang the loudest. This time, without ever "thinking" about it, I knew I was done. I've said it before, and I really did believe myself all of those times. This time, however, there were no thoughts. No lists. No struggle with feelings. No words. Nothing extraordinary. Looking back, I can guess that that was because I wasn't trying to convince myself of being done. I wasn't manipulating myself into feeling emotions that weren't yet ready to surface. I wasn't ignoring, ridiculing, or dis-validating myself by trying to strong-arm the "right" emotions in me. This time I just held myself, allowed the pain to flow through, and I knew. I knew I was done holding on to, and being responsible for someone else's trauma.
6 months ago.
He stayed close-ish by for the kids, so travel days, as daunting as they were for me, were still wrapped in a (thin) layer of bubbly cushion. I knew I wasn't alone out there on the open road. With an RV that has had numerous engine problems, among other things. And an older salvaged van, that he picked out, that has proven to be a money sucking pit of anxiety for me. That thin layer was very comforting
6 months ago.
It's been nearly 6 weeks now since he decided to move out of state.
And so, as my two younger boys and I prepare to leave the sanctuary of a friends driveway, and head South to, well, we really don't know ... that layer of bubble wrap that I had to land on, if I needed, has been popped.
And so many emotions are resurfacing over and over and OVER again.
Some days it's hard. And really heavy.
And some days it's empowering. And beautifully light.
The road trip (in just our van - the RV stayed back) that the boys and I recently went on, to Niagara - through Canada - to Milwaukee - and back, was that empowerment manifested. He was leaving that week, and I wanted to be gone for that. I also wanted to prove to myself that I could do this alone. I could be out there, on the open road, sometimes driving through cities where we knew no one, with children to take care of, and we'd be okay. We'd be more then okay! The kids and I would rock this... together.
And we did!
It was amazing!
I felt strong. And capable. And hopeful. And excited.
And safe. And held. And so very much in love with our life.
And then we were on the "and back" part of our trip, and our van started slowly dying.
She's continued her slow death since. As much as it's empowering to learn some mechanical skills as we go; I am having a really hard time with the anxiety of putting my babies in a car that may or may not get us to where we are going. May or may not have us broken down on the side of the road for hours as we work to fix her. May or may not end up being fixable. May or may not leave us stranded.
Left alone.
Abandoned.
Again.
And... we're getting ready to leave here. Driving a giant RV that's engine may or may not be fixed. Towing a van that I don't trust once we get to wherever we're going. Potentially being in a place with no-one to call if and when that abandonment happens.
It's hard. And painful.
And all of that empowerment that I worked to obtain feels, some days, so so far away.
That's the thing with growth.
You'll be given plenty of opportunities to continue to validate and strengthen it. To validate the strong. And the capable. And the hopeful. And the excited. And the love. And bigger yet... the safe and the held. Always always held, as one, all-one. Plenty of opportunities, because until you've truly peeled back all of those layers of healing (is there even an ending layer?), obstacles will seem to continuously pop up, laying way for you to practice these re-kindled gifts of self love and trust. And sometimes you'll fail. You'll stare an obstacle in the face, and drop to your knees. Crying inconsolably. Doubting yourself. Victimizing your life. Giving up. And projecting your pain in hurtful ways.
I'm in the trenches right now.
Some days are sunny.
Some oh so cloudy.
As we prepare to leave here I'm being given the opportunity to practice my empowerment, my self love, my trust ... OFTEN.
And I'm not always hitting that mark.
And... mostly, when I pull back and gain perspective, I'm okay with that.
Because life isn't a straight line.
It's a crazy beautiful jagged ascent full of peaks and valleys.
Yes.
An ascent.
I *am rising.
even while I'm on my knees crying; right now.
Ascent.
***but I'd still like a newer car ;-)
I'm okay with that, too.
We're leaving this driveway soon. We know that. Warmth, among other things.
The anxiety spikes of driving this rig, while towing our breaking van, are intense.
We don't know where we're going. Where we belong. Where we fit.
I'm feeling painfully vulnerable.
Abandoned and displaced.
Alone. So completely alone.
More then 6 months ago, my husband walked out on us. Again. As painful as it was, it was actually the absence of passionate emotion that rang the loudest. This time, without ever "thinking" about it, I knew I was done. I've said it before, and I really did believe myself all of those times. This time, however, there were no thoughts. No lists. No struggle with feelings. No words. Nothing extraordinary. Looking back, I can guess that that was because I wasn't trying to convince myself of being done. I wasn't manipulating myself into feeling emotions that weren't yet ready to surface. I wasn't ignoring, ridiculing, or dis-validating myself by trying to strong-arm the "right" emotions in me. This time I just held myself, allowed the pain to flow through, and I knew. I knew I was done holding on to, and being responsible for someone else's trauma.
6 months ago.
He stayed close-ish by for the kids, so travel days, as daunting as they were for me, were still wrapped in a (thin) layer of bubbly cushion. I knew I wasn't alone out there on the open road. With an RV that has had numerous engine problems, among other things. And an older salvaged van, that he picked out, that has proven to be a money sucking pit of anxiety for me. That thin layer was very comforting
6 months ago.
It's been nearly 6 weeks now since he decided to move out of state.
And so, as my two younger boys and I prepare to leave the sanctuary of a friends driveway, and head South to, well, we really don't know ... that layer of bubble wrap that I had to land on, if I needed, has been popped.
And so many emotions are resurfacing over and over and OVER again.
Some days it's hard. And really heavy.
And some days it's empowering. And beautifully light.
The road trip (in just our van - the RV stayed back) that the boys and I recently went on, to Niagara - through Canada - to Milwaukee - and back, was that empowerment manifested. He was leaving that week, and I wanted to be gone for that. I also wanted to prove to myself that I could do this alone. I could be out there, on the open road, sometimes driving through cities where we knew no one, with children to take care of, and we'd be okay. We'd be more then okay! The kids and I would rock this... together.
And we did!
It was amazing!
I felt strong. And capable. And hopeful. And excited.
And safe. And held. And so very much in love with our life.
And then we were on the "and back" part of our trip, and our van started slowly dying.
She's continued her slow death since. As much as it's empowering to learn some mechanical skills as we go; I am having a really hard time with the anxiety of putting my babies in a car that may or may not get us to where we are going. May or may not have us broken down on the side of the road for hours as we work to fix her. May or may not end up being fixable. May or may not leave us stranded.
Left alone.
Abandoned.
Again.
And... we're getting ready to leave here. Driving a giant RV that's engine may or may not be fixed. Towing a van that I don't trust once we get to wherever we're going. Potentially being in a place with no-one to call if and when that abandonment happens.
It's hard. And painful.
And all of that empowerment that I worked to obtain feels, some days, so so far away.
That's the thing with growth.
You'll be given plenty of opportunities to continue to validate and strengthen it. To validate the strong. And the capable. And the hopeful. And the excited. And the love. And bigger yet... the safe and the held. Always always held, as one, all-one. Plenty of opportunities, because until you've truly peeled back all of those layers of healing (is there even an ending layer?), obstacles will seem to continuously pop up, laying way for you to practice these re-kindled gifts of self love and trust. And sometimes you'll fail. You'll stare an obstacle in the face, and drop to your knees. Crying inconsolably. Doubting yourself. Victimizing your life. Giving up. And projecting your pain in hurtful ways.
I'm in the trenches right now.
Some days are sunny.
Some oh so cloudy.
As we prepare to leave here I'm being given the opportunity to practice my empowerment, my self love, my trust ... OFTEN.
And I'm not always hitting that mark.
And... mostly, when I pull back and gain perspective, I'm okay with that.
Because life isn't a straight line.
It's a crazy beautiful jagged ascent full of peaks and valleys.
Yes.
An ascent.
I *am rising.
even while I'm on my knees crying; right now.
Ascent.
***but I'd still like a newer car ;-)
