Embracing the Suckiness Moves You Closer to Hope
I am in recovery. From binge eating and bad love. Mostly the binge eating was from bad love. Bad self love. But lately my recovery has been from bad self-help. All the band aid affirmation with visualized materialism makes me want to vomit into my low vibe world.
I don’t know how many times over the past year I have thought to myself man… life is hard. Like really hard. Why isn’t anyone else talking about how hard this is? I didn’t think it was supposed to be quite this hard once I was an adult.
I mean. Jiminy Crickets. I have all the boxes checked to the lists of what makes up a good life and I still have some big moments of struggle. And during these times I layer guilt on top of the shame for wanting to talk about the heavy hardness when on paper I tell myself I don’t have any right. On paper. Life is good.
I was sitting at the table the other day with my friend and our babies playing around us. It was a Parent picture perfect scene. Charming city house, in trendy jeans, natural botox, great highlights, veggie meals and happy kids! (we fed the kids hot dogs later)
In this moment I let down my mask and exhaled the fucking hardness of life.. Without a beat she said, “well you just have to focus on the bright side.”
It was a verbal smack down. She looked at my face puzzled at my smackededness, “O-kaa-ay,. Clearly not.”
This was not a play date friend where we only talk about the sleep schedules and shoes. This was a forever friend. But somehow. Clearly. We were not in the same spot. And I wasn’t supposed to talk about it.
The past year has been the hardest of my life. It had all the big D’s - and they were plural: Divorces, Diagnoses and Death’s.
And frankly. It rocked my world. This isn’t the way life was supposed to go down. Good people died too soon. My beloveds were going through divorces and my heart that walks around was given a diagnosis (three to be exact).
In the valley of my rage I pulled over screaming my contempt for God while punching the steering wheel until my first was bloody and bruised. Desperately trying to stop the feeling of my chest splintering I continued with slamming my hand into my thighs until they too were marked with despair.
I was alone. Wracked with heartbreak. And without faith. So focusing on the bright side just wasn’t going to work.
I whispered again of the hardness. This time to my dad and he said, "you know. Life can be a mean son of a bitch." That echoed my sentiments exactly. Life can be a mean son of a bitch. And in that moment I quit resisting and relaxed. I wasn’t alone.
You see. I didn’t want answers. I just wanted to feel seen. Loved. And know I wasn’t alone. And however I was feeling - those feelings are OK.
In that same conversation twenty minutes later my dad also mentioned good things can be as much a self fulfilling prophesy as the bad. And left it at that.
It took me a while but I have I have come to believe that there are moments in life that just flat out suck. And pretending it doesn’t just extends the suckiness. But feelings are a continuum. And if you can move one inch toward feeling a little better you are one inch closer to hope. And once we have hope. Baby. We are on a downhill slide to the bright side.
Cause focusing on the bright side. Well, that is a self fulfilling prophesy too.