Another restless night, tossing and turning, yearning for relief from the pain that’s raging in both legs and head. The demon of pain strikes much harder when vulnerabilities are high. Tired. Emotionally drained. Quesy from a day of unhealthy erratic eating. Cold.
Be gentle …
The demon of self contempt emerges from the shadows, tempting me to engage in the game we so often play. He pounces on me. Stupid! Fat pig ... More derogatory comments about being fat and choosing a Dairy Queen ice cream over black coffee. WEAK.
My quivering voice whispers, “Be gentle …” in return.
Be gentle …
You precious soul. I see you. I feel your pain. Breathe through it. I am with you.
Demons become angry, cursing me for allowing the presence of gentleness. Get out, they growl. How dare you show up here NOW. You’re too late. The damage is done.
Grief comes out of the shadows. Too much has been lost, she weeps.
Anger bursts forth, with vengeance. DON’T you dare give in. Gentleness doesn’t belong here.
Be gentle …
Out of the shadow creeps memory. Thoughts of the nightmare start toppling over one another. My body shivers and shakes, building momentum by the second.
Be gentle …
Fire shoots at me from the demon of harm. New pain sears it’s way into the flesh of my upper thigh and I gasp, breath catching in my throat.
Be gentle…
You darling child. I see how much it hurts. Here, hold my hand. Give me that flaming dagger. Let it go.
“Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for You are with me.” (Psalm 23)
Heavenly Father sits beside me on the cold tile of the bathroom floor and together we watch the demons fade into the darkness at the sound of His voice.
I had such a lovely day on Thursday and I slept a solid 6 hours, in bed, the night before. It has been ages since that has happened! I’ve been feeling bad about having such a limited supply of energy lately and not having the motivation to go out and do things. As a wife and a dog mom, as a human in general, I have been failing miserably. I haven’t been able to engage much because the majority of my mental energy is being spent on keeping myself alive.
So I reached out to my Aunt, who lives on the other side of the bay, and asked if they were going to be home and if it would be OK for us to go over to take the dogs out swimming. The beach has been gross here lately, full of green algae, and definitely not an ideal place for Zoey to be in the water. So I packed up a bag with a few towels, 3 bottles of water (one for each dog and David) and a bowl for them to drink from, sunscreen and off we went.
Zoey
Zoey’s excitement as we were walking down to the beach brought tears to my eyes. Buddy loves the beach but hates the water. He refuses to even get his paws wet. He’d rather explore, especially with all the different smells in an unfamiliar place. Zoey ran ahead and straight out in the water, jumping over the small waves as they came towards her. It felt like my heart was going to burst. It doesn’t take much to make me happy.
The temperature was perfect. Not too hot, with a slight breeze. And there was literally only one small cloud in the sky. It was the perfect shade of blue as far as the eye could see. I tried my best to take everything in and notice whatever I could, using all of my senses, because these moments don’t happen very often and I really wanted to remember this. I chose that particular location because of the sand. A lot of the beaches here in Newfoundland tend to be a bit rocky, making it difficult to walk with my balance issues, but this area was lovely.
Buddy
Zoey splashed along the shoreline in the water. Buddy zigzagged around us with his nose to the ground, taking in whatever scent he could. And being a beagle, a breed known for their hunting capabilities, he was in doggy heaven. And David and I walked for a while, holding hands, engaging in some random small talk.
Then he looks at me and says, “You should put your feet in the water. It’s not cold at all.” I looked at him and laughed. I was wearing jeans. “I’m not getting wet,” I said. David had shorts on and flip flops and had already walked in the water a little, getting his feet wet. “Just roll up your jeans. You’re wearing sandals anyway. Its ok if they get wet. They won’t be long drying.” I shook my head and continued walking along the sand.
Zoey (look at that smile!)
We were quiet for a while but I kept thinking about what he’d said. Lots of ppl love putting their feet in water. In movies I see ppl sit on the edge of pools or on the side of wharves, dangling their feet over the side. I’ve watched countless ppl walk along the shoreline, with the water covering their feet. It’s a normal thing lots of ppl do. So why does it seem like such an absurd thing for me? Why is it something I’m not allowed to do? What makes it so scary? Why does the thought of me doing something that others consider ‘fun’ fill me with so much discomfort in my body?
I had no answers and that bothered me. And I had no valid reason to not allow myself to walk in the water. All I knew was that I felt scared. The shame spiral began and my inner critic let loose, telling me how useless I was. Saying I was stupid and childish and a waste of space.
But I surprised myself this time. “Stop,” I said. Somehow I had found my voice and it took me a second to realize that I had said it out loud. It had been directed at the spiraling thoughts in my head but David stopped walking. I hesitated then bent down and began rolling up the leg of my jeans.
David’s flip flops
I don’t have the words to adequately describe how it felt to walk out in that water but I hope I never forget it. It’s like all of my problems just disappeared for a little while and I felt connected to something much greater. I smiled. I laughed. And at one point I even cried because I was so overwhelmed with something that felt good. I can’t label different emotions very well, other than it being either good or bad. But this felt absolutely incredible!
And Zoey … oh my goodness. It’s bringing tears to my eyes here now just writing about it. When she realized that I was in the water her excitement was almost too much for her to contain and she got the ‘puppy zoomies’. She ran circles around us, in and out of the water, jumping over the waves, then Buddy started chasing her around on the beach, and they were barking, and David and I just stood there laughing. Like, it was absolute pure joy surrounding all 4 of us and I don’t remember the last time I felt something like that.
Zoey
They say that salt water can cure almost anything. And I believe it. I’ve used salt water many times over the years to help promote healing in various physical ailments. But this was on a whole different level. The salt water may have only covered the lower part of my legs and feet but it felt like healing took place somewhere deep within my soul. It’s like, deep down inside, all of the broken and shattered parts of me felt … loved. I don’t know any other way to describe it.
And the little drops of salty water that fell from my eyes when I looked to the sky were my heart’s way of saying Thank You. Because it was as if God himself had wrapped His arms around me and said, ‘I got you’.
I sweep the shower curtain aside. A few water droplets fall from my hair before gliding down over my bare chest. My skin is bright red from the hot water. Steam rolls out through the window that was slightly ajar. It’s been a busy weekend, but it’s over now and we’re back home again.
It’s mid afternoon and David is in lying down, trying to catch a nap before he heads in to work tonight. Last night was a late one for us. Being the designated driver David spent the early hours of the morning taking ppl home. It was almost 4am when our heads finally touched the pillow. 5 hours later we were back in the car again. Thank God we are home. So while he rests, with the dogs curled up beside him, I go off to shower and calm myself down. In my own shower. In my own bathroom. In my own house. Safety.
The scalding water distracted me from the thoughts that had been swirling around in my mind. The tension that was trapped in my body that had been brought on by so much overstimulation, washed off me freely, mixed with the coconut body wash.
But the second I stepped out and my foot touched the towel that was on the floor, something didn’t feel right. The hair rose on the back of my neck. Goosebumps covered my arm and legs. The frantic beating of my heart became confused with memories of someone pounding on the door. Oh my god … there was someone else in the house.
Fear wound itself around me at the thought and circulated within my mind until it flooded my entire body with panic. I pulled the bath towel tighter around me in a lame attempt to suffocate the terror. Then, I reached for the doorknob and my hand lingered there. I couldn’t turn the knob, my mind was bombarded with images of who could be waiting for me on the other side of the door.
I pulled my hand away from the door, my lungs …too paralyzed to breathe. My shoulders trembled as I held back the cry that was threatening to escape from my throat. I forced my hand over my mouth to block it. Backing up, I felt the bench on the back of my legs and I let myself fall onto the seat. What the heck is wrong with me??!
I reached for my phone on the sink next to me. Placing my thumb on the screen it recognized my fingerprint and unlocked itself. I instantly searched for David’s name and opened up a new msg window. I knew he was asleep but assumed the sound of his phone receiving a new msg would stir him. ‘Are you awake?’
I stared at the screen, silently pleading for him to pick up his phone, a feeling of something dreadful happening consumed me. No response. I msged him again. ‘I’m really sorry for bothering you. I know you’re tired, my honey. But can you get up for a minute?’
Still no response. I thought of calling instead. The ring is louder than the new msg notifications. But that would mean I would also be required to speak. I couldn’t do that. My voice was currently non-existent.
A sob got stuck in my throat and my body trembled. I felt the sting of tears on my cheeks. Panic was pulsing through my veins. I thought to myself, “This is insane. There is nothing out there. There is no one out there! This is ridiculous. Why am I so scared??” I remembered that I needed to breathe. I have a tendency to hold my breath in moments like this and have been working on becoming more aware of it. I take in a small, shakey breath through my nose. “That was then … this is now. That was then … This is now.“
I repeated the familiar words to myself several times. I stood up from the bench I had been sitting on, and reached for the doorknob again. As my fingers touched it panic surged, threatening to drown out the mantra i had just been repeating to myself. Thatwasthen … this is now. Slowly I turned the knob and opened it ever so slightly. My chest burned from needing to exhale, but the grip of terror was strangling my throat.
I paused, waiting for that looming, dark figure to inch his way into the bathroom … but he didn’t. And suddenly I realized that it had happened again. My brain had forgotten where we were.
It’s 2024 … you’re in your own house … David is here … he’s asleep … you’re here in your own bathroom …
I turned on the tap and splashed cold water on my face. My lungs began to relax and I took a few shakey breaths. I grabbed my robe and pulled it close around my body, letting the towel fall to the floor. Feeling ashamed and broken I left the bathroom and went to our room. I quietly positioned myself on the bed next to David, sound asleep. A few silent tears fell before I cuddled in closer to his back. The warmth of his body against mine reminded me once again …
Loving someone long term means you get to attend a thousand funerals, for the ppl they used to be.
Ppl are constantly changing. We become exhausted being ourselves so we change. Our opinions, our routines, our hair color, our style, our attitudes, our likes and dislikes … always changing, always evolving. Who you are in this very moment is different than who you were 3 months ago.
We regularly grow out of ourselves. Our spark dies out. And when we see it happening to our loved ones we grieve for them. We miss who they used to be. We long for the parts that made us fall in love with them in the first place. Sometimes the new version is even better than before. While other times we struggle to hold on to whatever we can from the past version because this newly invented person standing before us has no resemblance whatsoever to the one we held so much respect for.
Hundreds of funerals are to be had for one single person. Sparks die, over and over again. It’s up to us to travel alongside our loved ones as they go from each version and to honor what emerges along the way. Sometimes it will be an even brighter flame than before. While other times it will be a mere flicker that temporarily floods the room with a necessary darkness.
I’ve been learning a lot about relationships in recent weeks and have been experiencing a deep sense of grief. I miss the man my husband was when we first met. I miss the man I married 13 years ago. My heart aches for the past versions of him that are no longer alive. But as I grieve for that which is no more, I feel a slight jarring in my soul as I realize …
Maybe this is an opportunity to fall in love all over again.
I am reluctant, I admit. But am also holding on for dear life, too afraid of the unknown to let him go. I need him. I don’t want to be alone. It’s selfish of me, I know. Even though he hurt me in the worst possible way I still don’t want to let go.
Most days I feel as if I could just disappear and no one would notice, like midnight rain. And I’m not gonna lie, I prefer that for the most part. I’ve never been good with people, with expressing how I feel, and with letting anyone inside the walls I’ve built around me.
But there are these rare moments when I wish I created deeper connections with others. Moments when I long for conversations that feel like I’m having a glimpse of someone else’s soul, or sharing a piece of myself, even if it’s something as simple as a favorite song.
Most of the time I feel like no one would ever notice if I opted out of this world. But there are also days when I wish someone would just think of me and remember the sound of my voice or the way I laugh. It’s just a comforting thought, I guess, knowing that in this beautiful world full of busy people, I existed and somehow, I mattered.
Her Complex Musings 
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