searchingforshalom's Blog

I have never been one to ask for things. If I don't get something at a restaurant or one of the handouts in class, I stay silent and make do. And that is definitely true in my relationships. If I need something from someone or from a relationship, I just let it go and hope the other party will figure it out and fix it. But in my relationship with my boyfriend, I am realizing it's not only not good for me, but it's not good for him or for our relationship. I normally steer clear of asking to save myself embarrassment and to try and be an accommodating person, but I'm realizing it makes it unfair to my man sometimes. Don't get me wrong, there are a lot of things that I don't need to ask for. Compromise and acceptance are still top priorities. But when I don't ask for what I need, I am expecting others to read my mind and make their worlds about me. Being in a relationship now that I have chosen and that hasn't been forced upon me, I finally learned to ask for what I need. Yesterday we were half-heartedly watching a movie and although we were close, I was sort of disappointed that he wasn't wrapping his arms around me. And then it occurred to me: how would he know that I was depressed and needed to be held? So I spoke up and asked. And he held me. It didn't make me a high-maintenance bitch. It didn't make him love me less. It made me human, and it made me humble.

Someone who can hear, spell it out in my hand. I'm a spiritual Helen Keller here. I can't sense anything. Somebody please tell me God loves me and you know because He told you.

strawberry pie 
made with songs of folding chairs
Supergirl dressed in black
identity chosen by you
just because I liked it
and you thought me beautiful in that way
talks of my assorted candy pieces
that make my up fears 
that result not in separation
but in nearness
all made me ready for you
for your bared nature
looking to the back of my retinas
gentle asking how I am
making things just as much about me as about you
kissing the back of my hand as you drive
telling me you’d give anything up if it hurt me
but I wouldn’t trade it
I belong to
and with
and for
you

I really don’t know what my problem is lately. I feel as though something that I think has never happened to me, has, in reality, happened, yet I can’t remember it. And it doesn’t just feel like I can’t remember something, but like something incredibly traumatic happened to me. Or maybe it’s like having memories of something that never happened to me. It’s a bit like that, too. Or maybe it’s a bit more like having fragments of memories of things that may have never happened to me because I have no other memories to confirm that they actually happened but I have a tiny suspicion that they might have happened. Or something like that. I have no clue what I’m saying. I feel traumatized by something that never happened. Yep. I’m mentally stable

i'm learning that i have nothing to say.

I have never been particularly fond of country music, though bluegrass has worked for me in years past. But at the catechism retreat, being around others with different musical tastes, country music began to permeate the atmosphere. And I began an appreciation for the genre. Driving back from the retreat, Eric and I were the only ones in his car, and since he is an avid fan of the genre, he decided my education would begin. CD after CD, we listened, talking little, but enjoying the quiet company, and I let it soak in. And in the right setting, with the right people, I enjoyed it.

Today, Professor and I made a trip to Tractor Supply, and as we browsed through the tools and overalls, the country music found us again. And I found again that I enjoyed it. Maybe it’s the way that it can give people who are just looking for jobs a voice. Maybe it’s the fact that the smallest of simple pleasures are valued. Maybe it’s that everything from church to beer can be discussed in one type of music. Maybe it’s that the values are concrete, and objects like pairs of jeans and iced tea can describe a way of life. I’m not entirely sure. But what I do know is that maybe sometime in the heat of the summer, barefoot and windows down,  I’ll turn on a bit of country twang.

I think I'm coming to the end of a time in my life where I am in penance. I really think I need to move on. I need to leave toxic things behind, not let those who have hurt me define me, and get back to a place where my whole faith life isn't about guilt. Great. But then comes the question, "Now what?". I have been in this state of gratitude through penance for so long that I really don't know where to go from here. I want to be done with the guilt, but I don't know how to do anything else. All I need now is to find something that will fill the hole in me when penance is gone. I really don't know what I'm doing here.

i would give anything
if you would just believe in my promises
and hold me for an hour
tell me a story, fictional
that has an aftertaste like truth
trade my breath
for one little juxtaposition
what an addiction
withdrawal rips at me

I'm exhausted, lonely, hurting,and I don't care. It wasn't may fault. He never wanted me. And I knew it all along, but could never prove it. Now I have that proof. And it hurts to be unwanted. But now that I know that he didn't stop loving me because of some character flaw, I am absolved. Because he never fell in, he never fell out of love with me. And it was like that before I was born. So I am pardoned. There is nothing I can do to be good enough. There is nothing I can say to make him think I'm something worth the dust on his shoes. So I am free. Proof of being unwanted has never felt so good.

I got out of the shower and I realized that I have been unable to cry for days. I decided to just put on some music in my room and see if I could pray about it. So I turned on the music, let it shuffle, and then started to get dressed. The first song that came on was 'Let It Be' by the Beatles. And I listened. And I forgot my nakedness, sat down on my bed, pulled my knees to my chest, and just let everything be for a few minutes. Mother Mary does come to me in my time of trouble, she intercedes for me, and sometimes I need to let things be and wait for an answer. I can't cry right now. And that's okay. There will be an answer. And though I think this is the cusp of a time when I begin to work on healing, sometimes all the work I need to do is to let it be, naked and dry-eyed, and let a song wash over me.

i showed him myself
and that's when he left
again
i'm just the kind of girl
that's too hard to love

KeasbyNights asked this question, and it's got me thinking. I have quests all over the place.

To be something God smiles on and says, "See her? She's mine."
To love with abandon
To live as if everything were sacrament
To act as if I live on borrowed breath
To find the perfect pair of red shoes
To try to love more than others love me
To gain knowledge without increasing my ego
To be able to go to Mass every day--And take that opportunity
To read great thinkers more than I write about myself
To live like a poet
To be a poet
To be a good mother one day
To be as joyful as my blessings warrant
To be an accomplished cook
To be someone my father might be proud of

My quests are all ongoing, and some will be unachieved. But doesn't the fact that I'm questing mean something?

My brother: Wait…they’re Republicans. How the heck do we get along with them?

Me: Well, you’re black at heart, how do we get along with you?

My brother: I’m a Democrat. That has nothing to do with how well I can dance.

Me: You’re too young to vote. You’re not anything.

My brother:  The hell I’m not! I’m a Democrat. Do you know why? West Wing. Owned! Do you know why? President Bartlett. Owned! Do you know why? That other guy on the show. Owned! Owned! Owned! Owned! Owned! Owned! Owned! Owned! Owned! Owned! You just got owned 12 times! I could buy a carton of eggs, throw out all the eggs, put in the ownage, and give it to you! Suck it!

I got back with my ex. I know everyone is going to say that this is a stupid idea, that being with a recovering sex addict is not safe, and I can totally see where these criticisms are coming from. But I see something so radically different in him that I've never seen before. We talk about our faith lives together. We pray for each other. Yesterday when he held me, I looked up at him and he had tears in his eyes.

I thought that I'd give him half of a second chance just to gague his psychological health, but he has shown such a tenderness, such a focus on my needs, such an openness about anything and everything. Anything I need, he'd be the first to try to give it to me. Anything I need to talk about, he is the first to hold me while we talk. Even just small acts like running his hand through my hair are so different than the way we were before, and I see this gentler self emerging in him. I really think he is growing as a Christian, as a man, and in our relationship.

I'm not betting everyhting I have on this relationship or anything just yet, but I'm certainly ready to give it a chance. For once, someone compatible with me who really gets me actually wants me in his life. How lucky am I?

The fact that I call God Father is not for any other reason than that I have been taught this way. God is someone to be close to and to be reverent in front of, and He will love you no matter what you do.

Someone asked me today if I had trouble with the notion of being forgiven because the view of God is as a father, and my earthly father was not ideal. First of all, I have no trouble grasping that I am a forgiven being, but I am still working on going through my own penance and working in gratitude for that forgiveness. But in any case, I think the view of God as a father has helped me immensely. When my father makes me hurt, I know that fathers aren't supposed to be like that, and that I do have a father that loves me.

Yet the question and the many questions that spring from it have lingered a bit, the aftertaste still coating my tongue with something I'm unable to swallow. Have I really thought of God as a father like that? Do I not just believe in my forgiveness but know it to the core of me? Am I distant from God because subconsciously I think of Him the way I think of my father? Maybe that is why penance is the largest part of my spiritual life. What if I am so scared of being disappointing to my father that I fear any closeness with my Father?

I don't know. And this is going to mull in my mind for quite some time, I think... forget sleeping peacefully tonight....

In my new quest to let my identity be reclaimed, my first micro-step is to identify what I had been the defining points of me that aren’t of God. Here’s my beginnings of a list:

1. My suicide attempt. This has been something that I measure everything else in my life by since it happened. It has taken precedence over every defining feature I have, so it tops the list.

2. My ability to hide my emotions behind humor. There are a scant few who can see through the fake that is my public self, and I try so very hard to cover it up even from them. Why do I do this, even though I know it will help if someone sees the fact that I’m not happy? I have no clue. (Now this does not mean that I get to act depressed all the time, but feeling joy so that my outsides can match my insides is an entirely different animal that I’ll have to figure out later.)

3. My self-perceived intelligence. I don’t claim to be a genius, but I like to think I can hold my own in opinionated debate. But if I think about it, if I were a complete idiot, I wouldn’t know it because I am completely prideful and secure that my intellect will remain secure. And as my memory and comprehension continue to deteriorate, I am becoming more aware that my intellect leaves much to be desired.

This list is subject to change and there will probably be many additions, but for right now, this is what I’m going to work on: Letting to of whatever’s on my list to the point where it is unimportant to me and I barely think about it. A tall order, but I have a lifetime to work on it.

In listening to a cliché, wandering, terribly long sermon, I had time to think. This week I have come to terms with the fact that I stay in the hole I’m in because I am defined by it and I know what to expect here. But that was the extent of my inner discoveries. I think during this sermon I found my next step.

The preaching today was about being born again (I know, I know. Cliché.). And it occurred to me as Reverend Roeda spoke of going even further back than birth to the very conception of our selves that that is the thing that I have refused to do. I don’t even think I was ever really born again. Yesterday I was aware of how pathetic it was that my identity was derived of darkness, but I was unwilling to even consider that I might need to accept that I have to completely get rid of my old identity to actually call myself a Christian.

So here’s my new Lenten goal (and it’s going to be terribly appropriate for Lent as it will be like being ripped limb from limb): I will not define myself by anything but the fact that I am bought with blood. I will not be ‘the displaced Southern girl’, ‘the girl that bakes copious amounts of things for the unsuspecting’, ‘the girl who can singe your eyebrows off with a quick tongue’,’the girl in the depths of depression’ or ‘the girl that tried to take her own life’. Everything that I have defined myself with I will let go. I am now ‘the girl that lives on borrowed breath’. Plain and simple.

Yet it is not simple. Everything that people like about me, hate about me, know about me, is now inconsequential. Everything I know about myself comes into question. Guess what? I just did away with my identity. I did away with everything safe and comfortable. Because if I’m actually going to be a Christian, ‘safe’ and ‘comfortable’ must take a back seat to God’s will. And I’m terrified.

So here I go, stepping out over the precipice of the unknown.

So I've been trying to write a bunch to sort out a feeling I've had deep within me for a long time, and I think Suzy just put it into words for me. After reading my latest poem, she took the time to write on my whiteboard, "i have a feeling sometimes that we cant let go of the misery cause we can trust it, whereas the happiness is less trustworthy, know what i mean?" And that's exactly it. The dark is comfortable, I know what to expect, it's trustworthy and stable.

I love people who come into my life who want to help me out of my darkness, and when I'm with them, I really do want to get myself out of this hole and let them help pull me out. But when I get by myself, to write, to think, to contemplate my life, I realize I like the attention and love I'm getting from these lovely people, yet I'm still not trying as hard as I could to get out of where I am. And I think that's because I'd rather feel safe than happy.

I've never had a joy that I could count on. No matter what, the constant thing I can count on is the way I end up feeling after glimpses of good: the ache, the wringing of cardiac muscle, the anxiety, the hiding in my closet. That's something that will always be there for me when I need it.

I know this sounds ridiculous, and I know I should want a life of joy, whatever uncertainty may come, but I never liked adventure, I never wanted life to be a wild ride. I want peace. And I think the only way I may be able to do anything resembling that is to remain in the dark. The light is full of uncertainty and possibilities of falling, the darkness is a solid color that I can learn to inhabit. I'm learning, and I know that the dark has given me my identity. I don't think I'm ever going to be able to give that up.

Pathetic, huh?

Today I went to a baby shower. I have never been fond of the idea of a shower because it seems such a greedy enterprise, but today I understood why it’s beautiful. It was a community of women, all knowing how hard, how expensive, how incredible a new life is, and bestowing upon the new mom things they’d wished someone had thought to give them when they had kids. It is surrounding a new life and a scared first-time mother with blessing and support. And cake. I have warmed to the idea.

As ashamed as I am to admit this, I have this overwhelming feeling of emptiness and envy in me right now. As I sat in the midst of these women, all sharing in the stories of how miraculous birth and child-rearing are, a want like hunger pains coursed through me. To be able to hold a life in me, to give birth, to create life in love and have this new love of my life fulfill me—that is what I long for. To be complete.

I watched a young mother there with her 8 ½ -month-old daughter share their own secret communication. As she whispered into her daughter’s dark curls, my heart ached, but half the ache was hope. Maybe one day there will be someone who loves me enough to make a life with me, to let our love expand enough to let a baby inside the vast diameter of our affection, to let two turn to three. I hope so. An aching hope, but it is hope nonetheless.