My eyes are sore from crying. Literally, blinking is noticeable. There’s some stuff… yucky stuff… that’s been chasing me for years. I just can’t run anymore, so here I sit in my pirogue in the midst of a swamp full of tangled up emotions.
I’ve blogged parts of my journey in the past, and going back, you can read through the pain of my divorce, you can see the craziness of Katrina, you can witness the joy of writing a book. You can read about the person I was, the person I wanted to be, the person I certainly thought everyone expected. You can read how in the past 7 years I’ve been through two major hurricanes, a book release, seven moves, life threatening embolisms, a divorce, single parenting, remarriage, a life-threatening pregnancy, new baby, new job, and more. What you can’t read is that though I processed some of my pain through my writing, I mostly got busy with life and ran as hard as I could from the hurt and stress.
For a while now, I’ve written irregularly because, frankly, I’ve often felt too depressed to write anything positive and subjecting the world to my garbage was getting old. Somewhere… along about the time my divorce was final and I moved to Florida for a while, I got tired of feeling like a bad car accident being gawked at by passers by. Those things have a way of causing major traffic jams due to rubbernecking, you know. I felt like I wanted my life to myself, so I shut down. Those close to me are nodding their heads at this because they know it. They’ve exchanged concerned conversations over it with furrowed brows. They’ve prayed and worried and wondered what was going on with me. They’ve put me to bed on their couches and waited for me when I didn’t show up. There are a few people who are severely under-recognized for their care and concern, patience and compassion for me. If you are nodding your head as you read this, then thank you for being my friend when I couldn’t be a friend back to you.
I’ve gone on to try and build a normal life, but this summer has been especially difficult. You see, a girl can’t run from her pain forever. A pirogue offers little protection from swamp monsters. (All my dearly beloved Swamp People fans know just what I mean.) Having reached a low that not only is hurting me but my darling husband and my job and more, I’ve decided enough is enough. It’s time to stop running from the pain, to deal with it once and for all, and to learn to fight like a grown up lady. (Some of my dearest friends would term this “puttin’ on my big-girl panties.”) Leery of “counseling” due to past experience, I’ve persuaded the only individual I trust who also has a counseling degree to work with me. The journal and pen are back out on my bedside table. The hard work has begun and… watch out world… I’m comin’ back!!!
You’ve heard the expression “a sight for sore eyes” and now I know more about what that means. It takes a LOT of cryin’ to make sore eyes. And when those eyes open to a friendly face, a glimpse of truth, a reason to hope, a cool cloth, a mother’s touch, a sister’s hand, a husband’s strong arms, a baby’s laugh, a friend’s understanding, or a word from God, the comfort is exquisite. These sore eyes have seen all of the above, and I’m most humbly grateful for the friends, family, bosses, coworkers, and fellow believers who have been these beautiful sights to me.
Hear my slow, shuddering sigh as I pick myself up and head back to life.
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