Stretching

"There comes a moment in the life of every individual when reality must be faced. When this happens, it is as though some link between emotion and reason is stretched to the limit of endurance, and sometimes snaps."

--Daphne du Maurier

I don't know when or where I read this quote for the first time. I'm not sure if is a real life quote from Daphne du Maurier or a quote from one her novels. I do know that the minute I read it, it resonated with me in a mesmerizing fashion.

I hope every person has that moment -- where reality must be faced -- but I'm not sure they do. I know a lot of people who seem to continue living in their dream worlds. For me it wasn't one moment though. It's been progressive moments over a period of years. A series of links that have been tested -- stretched at times to that breaking point. 

There was a phrase that I said a lot in the beginning and the middle of coming to grips with the PTSD and accepting the abuse as reality. "I just don't know if I can do this anymore." I'm not sure exactly what it meant -- suicide was considered, even organized in my head. I could never get past what a legacy it would leave for my kids, and a sense that it would give evidence to the naysayers who thought I was just "very sick".

I think what I was really looking for was a time out. A chance to regroup and catch my breath before the next wave of reality and emotion crested over me threatening to take me down. I never envisioned it as snapping, but more like drowning. And yet I felt compelled and obligated to keep getting my head above water if only to tread on a little bit longer because I had obligations and responsibility -- and besides what would people think or say if I didn't do what was expected.

When I was finally able to truly face reality and what it all meant, I had built up enough strength and knowledge, and created a support group, that I didn't snap. But I understand those who do and those who, perhaps, sometimes wish they had. I know the story of one woman who did snap and left behind a husband and children who deal with it every single day. I think of them often. I don't blame her. I do blame the abusers and the naysayers for not holding her up. For taking the easy route for themselves by saying she was crazy -- had always been off her rocker. You would be too if you'd been abused and no one would listen to you or believe you when you tried to tell them.

That link between emotion and reason has been stretched over and over again. Thank God it hasn't snapped.

linking up with Writer's Workshop

Day 10 of 31

I had one of those conversations yesterday. You know the real ones where nobody pretends like everything is wonderful? Where you ask real questions about hard stuff? It was just lovely. And the funny thing was it led to laughter, and I felt maybe I was understood, and that little click of connection may have sounded.

I've known of this person since high school. I was reacquainted with her a few years ago through a mutual friend. Recently I hired her to do some work for me.

I'm not good at asking for help, even when I'm paying for it. Everything just came together in one of those ways that makes me think God's got to be in this. Planets aligning and all that.

We chatted before she began working. Filling in information gaps. What we knew, thought we knew, about each other -- exchanging it for what was real and true. 

Her life's not perfect either. She grew up going to church and the right schools, but it hasn't been picket fences and window boxes. And that made it easier to talk about my window boxes being empty, and the struggles of abuse, betrayal, distrust, a bipolar daughter, and an extended family that fails. 

What amazed me most was the laughter. It didn't feel like we were ignoring each other's pain (hers is divorce, blended family, chronic illness -- variations on a theme), rather it seemed that we just understood. There wasn't all that effort to try and explain to someone who hasn't struggled. She knew what it felt like, and so did I. So we moved into that click connection with little or no awkwardness. 

And isn't that what it's meant to be like? Really seeing, sharing, and understanding another person's life without judging or fearing judgment. 

linking up with Lisa-Jo and Ann Voskamp

Thankful Thursday #4

“We must be willing to let go of the life we had planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.” – Joseph Campbell

I read this quote on another blog this morning. It caught my breath, because it is so true. 

All of us hope and dream and plan for what our futures will be like. Women are probably more into this than men. When we are little we dream of boyfriends, weddings, husbands, houses, and children.

I dreamed about a perfect life, where the family was happy all the time. I would give wonderful dinner parties and my children would excel and be happy all the time, and my husband was suave and debonair.

What I got was not perfect and happy, but it is real. And let me tell you real is so much better than make believe, IF you are willing to let go of your fairy tale.

It took a lot of work for me to release my fairy tale, and it's understandable that I held on to it for so long. I needed a fairy tale after the horror story I'd grown up in.

Over the past 11 years I've been letting go of that fairy tale mentality. It's hard work. I have fought it tooth and nail at times, but this past weekend I let go of another aspect of that fairy tale life -- a relationship that is never going to be the way I wanted it to be. It's sad and I'm foggy on the exact future, but I acknowledged reality and did what I needed to do.

What a gracious and loving God I have! He has walked with me every step of the way, loving me even when I kept getting stuck in the same place over and over again.

So today I am thankful, as always, for my Heavenly Father, and all the blessed people he has put in my path to open my eyes to the life He has waiting for me.

Blessings and peace.

find more Thankful Thursday at Women Taking a Stand

editing reality

so I ran across this prompt today at Write on Edge -- Remembered-Your worst memory. initially I laughed at the thought of participating. then there was the familiar onset of nausea, headache, memory pains, etc. the recurrent question, "which one was the worst?" I've written about several of them on this blog. some of them I have not been able to put into words. there was my great aunt, my cousin, her mother, the student, and the close family member. I've never been able to rate them. individually they are horrible and grotesque, but taken as a group they are overwhelming.


the worst is maybe not what was done but what wasn't done and what was said. my father's response to two different episodes: "boys will be boys, so you were right to not tell us" and regarding the student, "I can't believe he would be so disrespectful of me". my mother's initial response not to my pain, but what about the rapist's wife. my parents' ability to tell me they just chose not to think about the information after I told them some of the abuse. they were going on vacation and didn't want their trip ruined. their ability to remain in close contact with one of the abusers.


as Laurie Colwin wrote: "She had a picture of the way things should pleasantly be, and she edited reality heavily to make it so." 


other people editing my reality -- my worst memory. 

link up at RemembeRED