The National Alliance on Mental Illness recognizes the potentially deadly consequences of when police respond to calls involving people with mental Illness. That’s why the organization and its nearly 1,000 branches across the country are working diligently to encourage a more robust training of police in the area of mental health. For police, it’s hard […]
Life is anything but simple. It would seem only the elders have the answers. When I inquire of their wisdom: “Pray about it.” “God is there.” Moreover, “You’ve lived through worse.” Great words. True affirmations. Life is still a working complication. No one has the answers to “but why?”
I am walking, working, faith-ing in crisis mode. I have been for the last few years. Truthfully, each day is a battle. We fight in so many battles. Frankly, I am pretty worn out. My heart hurts. My faith has a little thread showing that keeps being pulled…you know the one piece that if you keep pulling, it will pull the entire garment apart. That is where I am– a place where I am continuously pushed into, the fighting with faith corner.
I do not think I have any difficulty in learning life’s lessons. I find it difficult to believe my journey is more special than anyone else. Yet for God’s sake, what more do I need to learn? (Rhetorical.)
Incidently, I do not think love is very tricky. I think the responsibility of it; how we carry it, is the intended lesson. My youngest is nine years old. He is the bravest person I know. What weakens me is his tears, his worries. How he will crawl into bed with me and squeeze me tight, crying because he does not want to lose me. He does not want me to die. I realize I am his world. I am all he has. The one he believes in. #singlemother
Yet, I cannot promise him that I will be here to see his children. I promise him that I will do better about taking care of myself. My whole self. I shoulder the responsibility of his heart. His and all my children. It is just us and has been just us for the longest.
I am happy that I am not a bitter, cold person. I think life is too short to become that type of person. I am not anyone’s doormat either. All I have experienced in life either by choice or by God’s design, I will admit I am the better for it. I have to actualize and acknowledge that I am the better for it.
#Gogettr is my tagged license plate. It took awhile for me to decide on that term. It was after the divorce, after the custody battles, before Darius’ diagnosis, after Momma died, after the partial hysterectomy before unemployment and now, now, it complements the blank canvas to begin a new life at 45 years old.
Last week three situations happened that circle my faith: Tuesday, an educated man, doctorate degree greets me on the elevator: “So you are #Gogettr?” I look at him confused. Him: “Your license plate. It fits you. That is you.” I smile. He does not know my heart is broken and that my idea of love has become disillusioned. Later, I look up Cambridge’s definition of go-getter: someone who is very energetic, determined to be successful, and able to deal with new or difficult situations easily. I nod my head in agreement and think, hmmm, a spiritual prognosis. Only me.
Friday morning, in training class on Person Centered Therapy, my table partner says: “You are amazing. You are beautiful. Your faith moves me. I can see it.” His words make my life seem real, my faith tangible. Yet he amazes me because this stranger, this white man, married, a father, former military and in law enforcement makes me feel safe. I have not felt safe in a long time.
Then there is my client, a businessman who initially approached me about working with him. Friday afternoon, I questioned him on me becoming self-employed, taking more classes. I told him I never saw myself that way, outside of being a licensed counselor and published writer. He responds: “You are smart. I can tell how you carry yourself in conversations. I am from the street. I have no clue about the field you want to go into but I will support you. Job loss after 15 years of service!! This is fate. Believe in yourself. Get out there. Learn all you can. Knowledge is power. God has a purpose for all of this.” He is my one and only client. He has no idea how he has affected my life but every meeting he tells me how he is grateful for me.
It would be a lie if I tell you that I am walking on sunshine and I see rainbows after every storm. I will not tell you that because I do not. I am more reactive where I should be proactive in faith. The more I wail and cry silently the more God sends solidifying proof that He is working and all of this is for my good.
Rejection: I think rejection is by far one of the greatest emotional hurdles of life. It happens to the best, the innocent and in every aspect of life. Knowing this does not make the acceptance of rejection easier, nor the pain tolerable. Everything we know of ourselves comes under self-scrutiny; from the size of our waist to how many inches our eyes are spaced apart. Our waistline we can control with great discipline but the latter we have no say.
Demoralizing our self-worth, trying to understand the reasons we experience rejection is a tedious meaningless task and we give it so much work and so much energy. It is self-defeating. Advice from others, those little cliches vex me so. For example, “Hurt people hurt people.” So asinine. “Don’t have any expectations.” Now that is just plain stupid. “Let it go.” Whatever, you try it.
I want a time where I can rest. Resting in God. I got it. Love Him, I do. Yet for once just once in this lifetime I want to rest in a pair of manly arms that refuse to let me go, to let me hurt. Arms that will let me rest, finally.
I think I grieve effectively…smh, I even grieve with hope. As a writer, I write it out. As a mother, I pray it out. As a grad student, a counselor I still pray it out. Of all the heels, I have to wear I still pray it out to the One who was rejected by all. How ironic faith is, a conundrum paradox. God’s mending extends our strength. I encourage you not to settle. I promise not to either. Chin up. Keep it moving. There is great power in next. 🙂
Let us begin again,
Gogettr aka Michelle.
I am afraid of spiders and…..Love. Whew. I said it. I can admit it. My fear of spiders is genuine, at times problematic. They are just creepy scary. My oldest son Damien gets so angry with me. He has killed spiders for me the longest. He has traveled to me (I jumped out my car once) to kill a spider. He is sympathetically sarcastic, “This fear makes no sense to me. You are bigger than it. Just step on it.” My response while hiding because my fear grows when I see one, “Is it dead?”
Love, has always been fairly simple to me. I grew up believing in the fairy tale—he will be my Prince, patient; my King, kind, able to sweep me off my feet and love me unconditionally and forever. The simplicity of love: you want me. I want you. We make it work. Simple, right?
I believe we complicate Love. We make it difficult. We calculate what we want. We conceive ideas on how and when we should receive it. We mold who we want to receive it from. If it takes too long we stop working for what we want and we settle. We stop. We begin to build our love, the definition of it our way behind the hurt, underneath the lies and disappointment. We love our way—walled up.
I have become so accustomed to making excuses to my length of singleness. My dating experiences have been dreadfully futile. I confess that I have never dated, never been one to serial date. If we date, we are working towards a relationship. The last few years my dates have been tragic. One date told me: “You are too independent that’s your problem. I am going to break your spirit.” First date, last date, lose my number. The next guy, I liked. I thought he was real nice. Phone conversation, he tells me he is bisexual. Well that just shut me down completely. I just stopped looking, talking, making eye contact with strangers for about a year. It bothered me because I couldn’t tell his sexual orientation. His lack of knowing which team he wanted to be on struck me to my core. Oh what a mighty new world I have been thrust into! I began to look forward to Friday nights, glass of wine, popcorn, pajamas and movies at home. These were my free weekends, no kids. Fear can become comfortable, a part of the norm.
Lately, I have come to realize that I look for holes even when the potential is there. I may recognize the props, the gateway and yet ignore it away, shut down because I am too afraid. Classic fear- to remain where you are. To remain in the hope of singleness is a complete cop out. Most times it is not the man, it is my own fear that keeps me single. Who wants to be fooled again? I truly believe no one can love me the way I love them nor the way I want to be loved. How selfish and “uncourageous ” is that? (uncourageous is my word. My blog. lol)
The thing is, I love Love. I think marriage is the greatest covenant two people can I have. I love married couples. I smile because they are smiling. I love hearing their stories of growth, phases of uncertainty and their methods of reconnecting–to remain together. Love is work. Love takes effort, not hoops—true effort that includes persistence, honesty and consistency. Love is effortless, it just is.
I will confess I stopped looking. I assume more than I approach. I judge more than I ask. I give up because I’m unsure and confused. The simplicity of it is, I would have called you last night because I said I would. No matter what is going on in my life I would have called you. Because deep down you are waiting to hear my voice. You are hoping. How has hope become a “game”? Big sigh, I’m afraid of love because being afraid of love is easier than being afraid in love.
I really would like to know what you are afraid of, love and what else? Also any likes on the post will comfort me in knowing I am pretty normal.
Be courageous, let love find you happy. #LOVE