Imperfect Edges

May 12, 2017

If you’ve ever said, “I just don’t understand some people…”

I see it in your posts.

A horrific news headline

A rant about how you got stabbed in the back by someone you called a friend

A story about a case of blatant rudeness you encountered

…followed by the words “I just don’t understand some people…”

“I just don’t understand,” you say…

how someone could be so evil

how there is so much hate in the world

why people lie, steal, and cheat

why some seem to have no consideration for others

how they could be so close-minded

“I just don’t understand,” you say. Then you shake your head and turn back to your busy-ness, your Netflix, your workouts, your booze, your drama, your Starbucks, your hustle, your distraction of choice.

“I just don’t understand…”

Ok, but is not understanding useful?

*Morpheus voice* What if I told you… that understanding is within our grasp?

That we human creatures are actually very predictable and understandable once you’ve spent some time studying us. We are deeply complex, but there are reasons behind our rhymes.

“I just don’t understand.” Say it enough, it becomes a copout. Really, you don’t understand darkness because you haven’t tried to understand it. And if you can’t fathom where the problem comes from, you will never be able to help fix it. Understanding is the only way we can be of any help. Understanding is the only way to begin healing ourselves and others. Ignorance perpetuates the cycle.

But, wait.

Can you understand and still get angry? Yes.

Can you understand and defend your boundaries? Yes.

Can you understand and not condone unhealthy behavior? Yes.

Understanding does not mean accepting the unacceptable.

Understanding means we finally realize that even the cruelest acts come from wounds, not from people.

And from that new realization, we can quit responding to

back-stabbing with name-calling,

poor choices with gossip,

and narcissism with insecurity.

Because all those responses? They don’t heal wounds. They create more.

You want the world to change? Then begin the work – yes, it’s work – of understanding. Then we can bring up a generation of healers, not haters.

When We Hurt

Addendum:

So, if understanding is possible, why aren’t more of us trying to do it? I’ve come up with two reasons:

We don’t want to soften. We are determined not to let anyone off the hook.
If we look too closely at the darkness of others, we have no choice other than to face the darkness in ourselves.

I have responses to both of these. Which I’ll write later. Just sit with this much for now.

April 3, 2017April 3, 2017

Divorce and Feeling Things. Also, I Cried During Wall Balls Once.

Me: “So we’re doing this.”

Him: “Yeah. It’s time.”

Me: “Ok. It sucks.”

Him: “I know. A lot.”

Me: “I love you.”

Him: “I love you too.”

When my former husband and I realized our marriage was over, we tried to go through the process as quickly as possible. Before our friends and family could blink, we filed the papers, divided up our stuff, and headed our separate ways. We ripped it off like a Band-Aid. And it stung so bad. But I clenched my jaw and stubbornly pretended it didn’t.

“Pssssssh, I’m great!!!!” I replied a little too cheerily to all the inquiries about how I was doing.

“Life is WONDERFUL!!!!” I responded with big, blank eyes and a pasted-on smile to concerned friends.

I was numb. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to have fun. I didn’t want to feel. I proceeded to punish myself by working long hours and working out too hard. I didn’t let myself confide in anyone. I didn’t let myself cry.

Because if I cried, that would be admitting that it hurt… And if it hurt, that meant I had made the wrong choice…

Right?

A year after the divorce was final, I mentally said goodbye to my ex-husband for good when he moved to a different city. As I sat on my couch in dazed silence that day, my wise-beyond-his-years younger brother came over.

“How’re you doing?” he asked.

“Fine! Thanks for asking!!!” I chirped.

“Alright.” He sat in silence with me. He’s good at that.

Finally, I burst out, “This is fucking weird.”

“What is?” he asked.

“I think I’m sad but I don’t even know why. We split up a year ago. He’s gone. I’m happy for him. I’m happy for me. It’s fine. I shouldn’t be sad. This is stupid.”

“Just because you’re both better off now doesn’t mean something wasn’t lost,” he said. “It’s ok to grieve. In fact, you probably need to.”

Oh.

Yes, we were both better off. His life and my life were finally free to go the separate directions they needed to. But something had been lost. And it needed to be acknowledged. I missed my husband – my best friend for seven years. The person who had survived my twenties with me and at the time knew me better than anyone else. I missed the time we used to spend together and the silly things we laughed about. I missed our circle of friends and the life we had built together. There was so much to miss. And, an entire year later, I had only just realized that it was ok to miss it.

So I began the grieving process. Better late than never. I wrote. I cried. I laughed. I talked. I admitted. I ran. I yoga-ed. I thought. I meditated. I played the hell out of my piano.

And it didn’t all feel good. Cleaning a wound HURTS, you see. Going into our hearts with tweezers to remove emotional shrapnel is really freaking unpleasant at times. But a wound that isn’t cleaned out properly can’t heal properly.

Denying the pain doesn’t make it leave. It just cleverly disguises itself as other things: insecurity, shallowness, impatience, anger, and anxiety. It also robs us of all the good emotions: joy, excitement, hope, freedom.

I’ve been divorced for four years already. Being this far removed, it’s easy to see how right we were to go through with it. I don’t see the marriage as a failure. It was a wonderful experience that had an expiration date. And, for goodness’ sake, I’m glad I finally decided to face and embrace the dark times that followed.

Some of us would rather stay in a stagnant purgatory of not-feeling-our-feelings. I can’t do that anymore, and I don’t recommend it to anyone else. Allow the tears. Allow the fear. Allow the embarrassment. Allow the OhshitwhathaveIdone? moments.

Because, isn’t it better when your smile is genuine?

FYI, the crying comes easier these days. Sometimes I cry when I hear a good song. Sometimes I cry because I love my dog so much I can’t stand it. Pretty sure I cried once doing a bunch of wall balls. But I no longer associate tears with weakness or regret. They are cleansing, healing, liquefied emotions. And they need to get out. So let ’em.

The Truest Sentence That You Know

A Lot Can Change In A Year. Or Not. (Thoughts for When You Feel Misunderstood)

Seriously, Tell Me to “Be Grateful” One More Time…

January 29, 2017

When We Hurt

…

“How could you hurt me? I thought you loved me.”

To think that love means not to hurt is to be mistaken. We hurt people we love, on small scales and large. We hurt them deeply and repeatedly. Not because we are evil, but because we are humans with lessons unlearned. Every one of us.

Because I’m a human, I’ve been hurt. I carry small wounds and deep ones. To those who did the hurting, I say, “Thank you. I understand now that you are doing your best – your best with what you know, how you were raised, which resources you have, what pain you hide, and which beliefs you hold.”

Because I’m a human, I’ve hurt others. I’ve caused small wounds and deep ones. To those I’ve hurt, I say, “I am so uncomfortable with the fact that I caused you pain. That my words and actions cut you. As much as I preach about trying to embrace our humanness, this part of humanness still makes me squirm. Yet… I still ask you to try and understand that I, too, am only doing my best.”

Friends, I won’t ask you not to hurt me. Doing so would be no different than asking you not to breathe or blink. We’re people. We breathe, we blink, we hurt each other. I have peace in the knowledge that I don’t need you to do me “right.” I need you to simply be you. Keep doing your best and I’ll keep doing mine. Our bests might cause each other great joy. Our bests might cause each other great pain. I’m good with either. Because when I consider where the pain has launched me, and the lessons that it taught me, I can only see it as Love.