9 Years Later

I never thought
That I'd thank God
For the miles
And years
Between us.


- kb

The Wave Is Not The Sea

My therapist warned me early on that the pain, grief, rage, depression, etc. would come in waves, and it's true. She also warned me that when the waves came, there was really nothing I could do except be in it and feel it. Nothing would make it go away or stop or hurt less. As pessimistic as that sounds, it's just true, and it was helpful to know that it was simply out of my hands. Numbing and distracting (for me, in the form of self-harm) were dangerous options that I was trying my best to avoid.

At first, and for a long time, the waves were huge and came one right after the other, so close together that I couldn't even come up for air or catch a break in between. I've said before that I don't have very many memories of the first couple of months, and this is why. It's virtually impossible to be mentally present anywhere when your mind and heart are under water. Very, very gradually, the waves began to spread out ever so slightly, and the more times I got knocked down, the easier it got to stand back up after it passed.

I mentioned to my therapist at one point that I felt like the waves were starting to get smaller. She countered by saying she didn't believe that wasn't true; the waves weren't getting smaller, I was getting stronger and more capable of handling them.

I came across this quote last year and it has become something of a mantra for me:

"When our days are turbulent and troubled, our challenge is to remember that the wave is not the sea."   - Mark Nepo

These words have brought me so much hope, because for so long my life was nothing but turbulent and troubled. Nothing but huge, painful, devastating waves that felt completely impossible and unbearable. I couldn't even imagine an eventual version of myself that wasn't constantly being mercilessly thrashed around and pummeled by this. It felt like everything and it felt infinity and it felt like forever. But when I take a step back and look at how far I've come in the last year, I can appreciate the truth of these words. I still have days where I have to work hard to believe them, and the occasional day where I give up believing them completely. And therein lies the challenge.

So, remember:

The wave is not the sea:
This horrible, impossible thing you are doing or feeling is not everything and it's not forever.
(Even though it absolutely feels like it. That's okay. You can't see past it when you're in it).

The wave is not the sea:
What you're experiencing now is a part of a greater whole; a chapter, not the book.

The wave is not the sea:
There is so much more. There is hope.

The wave is not the sea:
Hold on. Give it time. Don't give up.

For me, it still comes in waves, but it looks very different now than it did a year ago. While all of the pain, anger, grief, etc. persist to varying degrees, and while waves still knock me down from time to time, now I can see the horizon. Now I know I can do this rather than just hope I can. And now I'm learning to skillfully swim at depths that I never thought possible.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

On August 24th, exactly one year since learning that my worst nightmare had become a reality, and on the day that my divorce was final, my sister and I got these words tattooed. In honor of their truth and of the fight to believe them. In honor of the breaking and the healing. In honor of the wave and of the sea and of each other. In honor of surviving. In honor of hope.

the wave is not the sea

Title

even so

I struggle with pretty significant anxiety, and I have for a long time. I remember several months ago, my anxiety got so bad that I started to tell myself that even if all of my worst fears came true, and even if every "what if?" turned out to be real, it wouldn't kill me. I would be okay. I would survive. I can very clearly remember sitting on the back patio one evening and telling this to my husband, and even saying that I thought it would be cool to get a tattoo that said "even if." (The fact that I remember this so well is saying something, because due to the fact that my anxiety tends to make my entire thought process blurry, I don't usually form very clear memories). Even if was my banner, and sometimes telling myself this was all that could get me through a bad day or a panic attack: the simple thought of, "At least I won't die."

In August, my worst nightmare turned out to be a reality. Every single fear was confirmed, every single "what if?" was validated.

There are still times when it feels like this is killing me. It has actually occurred to me that this might be what dying feels like. I am convinced that it is.

But I am alive.

Sometimes it feels like the only thing I have going for me is the fact that I'm not dead. But then when you think about it, even if that were true, being alive in and of itself is a pretty big deal.

I am alive.

My even if became an even so. It's been almost three months, and here I am. Sometimes barely, but here just the same.

This thing feels completely impossible, but I'm doing it. When it feels like I can't do it anymore, I remind myself that I am doing it. I've been doing it. I am doing the thing that feels impossible.

I have watched my entire life and everything I thought was real burn to the ground around me.

Even so, I am alive.

Even so, I am standing up under this.

Even so, I am doing the thing that feels impossible.

Even so, I will heal.

Even so, I will be okay.