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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