Rolling with the punches

When I was a younger mother I would say at the end of each year something like, "Surely next year will be the year where things will get better!" There was always something going on. Someone would have to have surgery, someone would be out of work, we would lose someone we loved. Life just seemed to be in a perpetual holding pattern of coping. 

These were the years our specialist would see me in clinic and ask me, "And how are you going with it all Leisa? " and I would answer with a stoic, "Yeah, I'm doing okay! "

And then there came the years of, "I-can-no-longer-deal-with-this" and, apart from feeling like I was losing my mind, I had a very unhealthy hatred of everyone and everything. I succumbed to the rage of, "It's not fair!" and, "Why me?" Well meaning platitudes of, "God only gives someone as much as they can handle!" only served to fuel the rage because I was NOT coping. Not by a long shot. I was surviving. 

Surviving is not living. Trust me on this one.

There were many offers of help from people I loved. Looking back on it all now I can see I should have accepted more help, but truth be told I couldn't specify exactly how they could help or what help I needed. I'm really not good at delegating tasks. 

And deep down, practical help such as getting someone in to clean the house or even take the kids places was not really the thing I needed. Having someone there to do all that stuff wasn't going to relieve the pressure of emotionally and mentally coping with everything. I can physically keep going forever (or so I keep saying) and I'm pretty good at "doing all the things" (because it actually helps me by giving the illusion that I have some kind of control!) but the constant worry and stress I had in my head almost did me in.

How does one get help for that? How can family and friends relieve that? There just seemed to be so much of it that I felt as though I couldn't keep leaning on the inner sanctum of trusted souls for fear that it would all get too much for them and eventually they'd all bail. One by one they'd jump ship. 

Because they all could. Trusted others, as involved as they may be, still have the luxurious option of jumping ship. Not that I'm suggesting they would have mind you, but somewhere in my stressed out mind this was something that niggled at me from time to time. I needed them to hang in there on the sidelines so I guess I protected them from how much I was struggling so they would actually stick around.

I realized that the other side of this is that when I did and do actually lean on trusted others and let them know stuff, that's when the floodgates open and I break down, lose the plot, can't hang on anymore, drop the bundle...take your pick. I've only got to get a phone call from one of my sisters asking, "How's it all going?" and I become a blubbering mess. I don't like it when that happens...so I remain closed and come across as this able, capable woman who has her shit together...

...when in fact nothing could be further from the truth. I don't have my shit togther. There are days where I'm like a li'l duck swimming in a pond - looking calm on the surface, paddling furiously underneath.

Furiously is a good word. Deep down I think I was furious. I was brought up in a church that preached "pie in the sky when you die, steak on your plate while you wait," meaning that if you followed Jesus then your life would constantly be wonderful, joyous, full of blessings, healing, deliverance, prosperity...all those nice, powerful words. After Googling that phrase I can still find pastors/teachers/evangelists who preach it. *headdesk* I was furious because no matter how much I prayed, how much I believed, how much I tried to have faith, attend church, tithe, learn...there was still another surgery to go through, another meeting to have trying to get schools to understand our specific quirks, another unsuccessful job application. If there was a God, I felt like He defininitely wasn't interested in us.

I think things started to turn the corner when I started seeing possibly one of the most incredible psychologists to ever grace the planet. For the sake of anonymity, let's just call him Peter. Peter was as tall as I was short. He too was a Christian but was open minded and curious about lots of different alternative ways of thinking. Instead of feeding me the same lines I had grown up with he offered me the idea that most of life is actually mundane, some of it is hard and it's all about finding the peace and joy in the everyday routine and simple pleasures of each day. Life isn't about going from one peachy keen moment to the next thanks to the grace of God. It's about just getting by and making the most of what you've got. I spent a lot of money going to see Peter, but I don't regret a cent of it. Our sessions together helped me to unlearn what I had always believed to be true and start searching for my own truth. 

Since then, and since really contemplating and grasping that concept I have had a lot more peace. More peace than I could have ever imagined. I've let go of the striving and the hoping and the wishing and just accepted that this is what life is for me, for us. 

And I'm ok with that.

That doesn't mean to say that things have all of a sudden got easier. There are days where I feel I am still rolling with the punches. Some days bring about a new thing to cope with and I find myself thinking, "Really? Another one? Enough already!!!" But after a brief time of getting angry and maybe even shaking my fists at the heavens I find myself once again squaring my shoulders and trying to use these new opportunities to grow, learn, gain understanding, wisdom and empathy. I'm far less judgemental than I used to be. I find myself looking at people and wondering what their stories are; what they are struggling with and end up cutting them some slack. 

I think we all need to do that sometimes.

If I'm honest, I can't say that I've reconciled with everything my family and I have been through, have had to walk through, crawl through and hang in there through. A lot of it has been bloody hard and there are times I sit there and think, "What did I do so WRONG?" There are times where I have wished I could have just crawled over broken glass and walked through fire rather than go through some of the things we did...but we did, and still do...and we still manage to come out the other side. Maybe we come out a little battered and bruised, but the point is we come out and we're still alive. 

And we still love and laugh. Last night as I was washing the dishes I listened to my four adult children sitting around the table talking about Christmas plans. For a short while they even started singing different Christmas songs, experimenting with harmonies and melodies together. It was the most beautiful music I'd ever heard. One of them became a little emotional because things are starting to change in regards to our living arrangements and soon they all won't be living together under the same roof. They all came together in a group hug, all lending support to each other. 

I see the beautiful close bond that they have and I wonder if it's been because it's been forged through fire that it's so close and so loving. Maybe they've banded together because they've walked through fire together all their lives?

Maybe I am grateful for the punches and the fire after all....