The wounds of my heart

      I don't want to write this post. I don't want to, but I need to. I don't want to investigate my pain, but I must. It is there. I must acknowledge it. Bear with me.
      I went home to Chattanooga for Christmas of 2012. We put our children in the car and made the 8 hour drive to my home. I was so glad to see the mountains. The beach is nice, but the mountains always speak to me. I see them, and I know.....I'm home.
      I knew I looked altered. I looked bad. I texted my mom and sister and my brother's wife and asked that they just not say anything because I already knew. I just wanted to have a nice Christmas. They obliged at first, but then they sat me down. The questions started. The admonitions began. I listened to them and did my best to appease them - or at least satisfy myself into believing that I'd appeased them.
      I had missed my best friend so much, so we jumped at the chance to go out to breakfast. It amazed me at the concessions I had to make to accomplish a simple breakfast date to which I brought my baby - baby Sally. My friend and I hugged in the restaurant and then sat down to eat. We picked at our food and then HER questions started. She did not seem at all satisfied with anything that came out of my mouth. I can still see the look on her face as I tried to sugar coat everything. I knew she didn't buy a bit of it. Then it came. The truth. She said "THIS is not the Sarah I know. I mean, LOOK at you! You look like shit!" That seems harsh, but it was the kindest thing she could have done. The truest friend she could have been. Pardon the saltiness of the word, but I really did look just as she said. I knew it. I actually didn't even try to gussy up and hide it from her. I think I needed her to see it, and once those words flew across the table, I knew. I was destroyed.
     What is it like to be destroyed? What does that mean? It means this. I'd stopped believing my dreams. I'd stopped believing that I had any autonomous worth. I would always be somebody's wife or somebody's daughter or somebody's mother. I was not content, but I was empty. I was a shell of what a person should be.....and everyone who loved me saw it. Their brows furrowed in concern. My friend looked disgusted - not at me - at my hurts. My wounds. They had consumed me.
      I was raised by Christian parents who were also feminists. (No that is not an oxymoron) My sister and I used to joke that, if my parents had told us that we could fly, we would have found a cliff and spread our arms. I was raised watching my dad cook and fix a rip in his own pants while my mom was out shopping for power tools or mowing the yard and then watch my mom put on a dress and heels and my dad a suit and be the quintessential American couple. I was always told that I could do or be anything and that I SHOULD do or be whatever life dictated that I need to be.....so how did I become this shell?
     I knew I was bad off, but I did not feel strong enough to rebuild. I packed my little people back up into the car and made the long drive home. The memories of my conversations rang in my head, but I did not feel the freedom to do anything about it......until March 13th of 2013. The events surrounding that day are details for later, but I found my strength. I looked at three sets of eyes looking back at me and knew that, if they were going to have any shot, I had to make a move. Life's circumstances forced me to do it. Had they not, I would probably be living the same life I had lived for years, so I packed my three babies and our cat into my car with the clothes on our backs and 5 favorite toys for each of the kids and set out.
     I was horrified. I had been told for years that I was not hireable by a reputable employer, so I was worried about finding a job. I was told for years that I had a poor work ethic and that I was lazy. Was that really true? I was told that I was weird and that no one really wanted to be my friend. That must be why I didn't have any, so who could I rely on? I was told that I only made friends with people that I could change so that I had the satisfaction of manipulating someone. Really? I had been told that I was a completely negative person....that one hurt. I didn't want to be a negative person or to be known as a negative person. I just wanted to have permission to feel things, and I had been ostracized by a particular people group for a long time. It confused me for that to never be viewed as valid.
     These thoughts sort of flashed through my mind. I didn't dwell on them as I drove. I just drove. I mostly thought about what I was leaving and that I was scared. I had no idea what I was going to do - especially if all of these things - or even one or two of them - were true.
      I got to my destination and started a little life. I DID get a job. I found old friends again. I found a church. I found a funny Sunday school class of little old ladies who treated me like I was worth something - as much as they were, but I still felt very scared. In fact, these feelings of pain and unrest are rearing their head as I type. My eyes are full of tears. It hurts to relive this.
      I had to leave that job and that church and that Sunday school class of little old ladies. There was more driving involved. (More on that later) I found a place to stay. It was not what I had dreamed for myself, but I curled my hair, put on a dress and heels and put on my lipstick. I squared my shoulders and entered the door of my new but temporary home........a homeless shelter for battered women - without my children.  I followed a woman to the linen and supply closet and was given some sheets and toiletries. She looked around for a minute and then said "I.....don't see a pillow, but there should be one on your bed." And then I was taken to my room.
      The only bed available was a twin sized top bunk in a room with two other women and a baby. There was indeed NOT a pillow on my bed, so I just made it up and laid on the crook of my arm. Strangely enough, they had Wi-Fi, so I hacked into my mom's online tv account and put in my earbuds and started a movie while I choked back tears and succumbed to sleep's welcoming embrace.
     I think I spent the next week in bed. Other than a 4 hour visit with my children, I felt so hopeless - so low - so overcome. I had no job. No place to live. No friends in this town. I was far from everything I knew and anyone who could help me. I was alone.

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Happy my birthday to you

     Today is my birthday, and gosh, I just felt adored. I'm not sure I have ever felt this loved on my birthday in my entire adult life - maybe my whole life. All day people have surprised me with tokens of their appreciation for the fact that I was born into this world. Some of these tokens were actual gifts and some of them were little notes on my Facebook or just the spoken word, but they ALL made me feel loved, actually....adored.
      My birthday is always weird for me because my dad died so near to my birthday, and because I spent a long time being fed the impression that I'm not really worth celebrating. So every year I try to just sort of squeeze around my birthday without being noticed, I guess, so that I don't have to deal with the issues that make me hate it so much. Three years ago, I actually allowed Facebook to post my birth date. That was a big deal. Either way, I usually ask for there to be no parties or cards or whatnot.
     This year, no one listened.
     This morning, I went out to my car, and there was a bag from my friend sitting on the front hood. I gasped and walked over to it. I picked it up, read the tag and started opening......standing there in my carport.....and then I started to cry. I was so moved. Then I started to see all the nice things people were posting on Facebook to wish me a happy day.
      I went to cut a friend's hair today, and when I arrived, I saw that she had decorated her door with signs and balloons. Inside she had flowers and cake and coffee waiting for me.
      My boyfriend sent me my birthday present a week ago. It was a bag and a card. The purse made me smile. It has his school's logo on it so I can represent every where I go. The card made me cry because this man is incredibly romantic.
       Yesterday I got a handmade card from a friend. It was beautiful. Inside it said "May you have everything your heart desires". I leaked some tears over that one too. If you knew who this person was and what all was represented with those words, you would fall to pieces.
       On Sunday, my daughter Natalie gave me a ring that she made out of those rubber band things and then made me a lovely card with a picture of she and I standing near my birthday cake while I blew out its candles. My son, who is 5, gave me $2.00 of his own money so that I "would have some dollars to spend".
       So I'm skipping around, but when I got to work today, my friend threw here arms around my neck and squealed at her chance to tell me happy birthday and then asked me if I liked red velvet. When I got to my counter, my manager handed me a gift card from herself and another counter manager. Underneath that was a GIANT red velvet cupcake from my friend that had hugged me earlier.
      Then, throughout the day, I had soooooo many people tell me happy birthday on Facebook and some in person. When people told me in person, something struck me every time. There was a something in their eyes - a softness, a tenderness, a happiness. It kept happening, so I kept thinking about it trying to figure out exactly what it was that I was seeing, and then it hit me. It was adoration.
       I felt like such a jerk when that word popped into my mind, but then I forced myself to think that through.  There are people that I genuinely adore. I look at them, and I just think "Gosh I am so glad they are in my life. I just don't know what I would have done if that piece of the puzzle had been missing in this picture", so what is so far fetched about someone thinking that about me? I had this realization, and then I began to cry. I am someone's "that". I am someone's puzzle piece, and by the looks of it today, I might be several people's puzzle piece.
       I have tears sneaking down my cheeks right now because I remember so well what it feels like to think that you don't matter, so to realize that I just might matter to a whole bunch of people - that all of that was a lie and even that I've healed enough to realize that.......makes me feel really lucky.
      If you are reading this, chances are, you have felt insignificant. You have felt like you aren't someone's puzzle piece. You're just the cellophane on the outside of the box that people throw away. You're clear, as far as you're concerned.  You're not though. You're not clear. You have depth and substance in there *points to your heart. You matter. You are someone's puzzle piece, and, like I realized today, you might be a BUNCH of people's puzzle piece. You fit right in to this beautiful picture of their life, and, without you, something would be glaringly missing. In fact, if you are friends with me, I just bet you are MY puzzle piece. (So funny. I have one person on my mind right now. I wonder if they will realize who they are.) I hope beyond hope that something allows you respite from your struggles enough to see your importance. I hope you feel as adored as you are - at least for a minute. I hope you get to feel what I feel right now - grateful, humbled, loved.
       So happy MY birthday to YOU. (I'm sharing it. It's my own birthday. I can do that.) Happy life to you.