I’ve been thinking a lot about resiliency lately–What it takes to keep pushing for and at the exact same time, wait for the yes, when all you are getting is nos and not yets. What it takes to repair a relationship with the one partner that you’ve waited for your whole life. What it takes to get back up on your roller skates when you fall, even when you think the whole world is looking at you.
I’ve been battling myself for my resiliency and I finally feel like writing again.
I’ve often felt outside of the milieu of people who felt defeated and survived the feeling. How did they survive anyway? Would I survive when it was my turn? Everyone gets at least one turn, right? Did I have enough resiliency to go to the brink of desperation and fight my way back psychologically, emotionally, physically, intellectually?
I have somehow been able to avoid painful experiences or push them so far down inside that I was able to go through life on a pretty even keel. I was able to intellectualize how a person got over something when ‘it’ was seconds from defeating them. I even had the gift of being an important part of the emotional support system for one (or two friends) who were at their lowest moments–I was able to do this even though I hadn’t yet experienced my own lowest moment.
I hadn’t really experienced life in ways that made me question my essence.
I hadn’t been forced to seek out the protection of one (or two friends) through phone calls and text messages saying that I was in crisis.
I hadn’t confronted the type of issues that the church ladies say make you cry out and say, “I repent, I rebuke, get back!, what can I do and thank God”.
The process of relocating was a bold move in faith. A way to push myself out of my comfort zone-a way to free float off the cliff instead of being constantly afraid of falling off the cliff. A paradigm shift, if you will, a model for risk-taking, an effort to find myself. An effort to find true happiness.
But, I almost lost myself.
The process of starting over was debilitating for me. The psychological and physical insecurity that came with the job search was more overwhelming than anything I have experienced thus far in my 44 years. Better yet, it was more overwhelming than what I could have imagined that I could handle four months ago (and I am a strong person in works and faith).
The process of setting much of my independence the side as I live with my father and regroup has been much, much, much more difficult to experience than I can articulate. I fell, rightly so perhaps, into the role as the victim and lost a bit of my fire each day.
My new dispositions of despair, fear and insecurity seeped into my relationship with my partner and made it hard for him to remain hopeful and loving when I was giving up hope and becoming unloveable. I was becoming the type of partner that neither he nor I wanted.
Back up against the wall, body sprawled out on the floor, I decided to pay attention to the church ladies and cry out in my car; give thanks, ask for help and move myself out-of-the-way. “Let it go”, I kept screaming. “Get rid of it!”
I fell with my roller skates on, got up and kept going–pumping hard to catch up to myself and my partner, Larry. I’m bruised, he’s bruised. My legs hurt, I still cry and I still cry out.
I didn’t know that I could be so resilient in the midst of such a storm.
Thanks be to God.