I was born a female in the south in the 1960’s… which should tell you a lot about the culture in which I grew up. As a toddler, my family changed to a fundamentalist, strictly authoritarian religion… which should tell you a little bit more. Of course, this also led to living in a home that reflected all of these things – a culture where women were considered “less than” with a church and home that supported that line of thought (and the threat of hell if you didn’t).
I am not speaking out of anger or malice. I am simply stating facts… Facts that had a huge effect on how I viewed myself. I am also not speaking out of self-pity. Everyone I knew or had contact with was just like me – the culture of the time, the religion, and the way “power” was distributed within the home. I felt love, and I knew kindness, but mostly from the women in my world – my mother, and my grandmothers. God (as “father”) and the men in our world represented “authority” and held all the power. For the most part, (with the exception of my grandfather), my relationship with the men in my life was more about fear than love. However, because I didn’t know anything different, I didn’t want anything different. It was simply the way it was.
Until it wasn’t…
With my first marriage, I began to actually see the world with all of its glorious variety. My first husband was in the military, so while my religion and family life continued to hold those same authoritarian values of my childhood, I was finally getting a glimpse of something else… Granted, this was also a time of massive cultural change in most parts of the world, so it wasn’t just the fact that I had left my protective bubble. Yet, as the world opened up for me, I began to have friends who were respected in their homes… whose voices and opinions were not only heard but were also often acted on… in a positive way.
At the time, I wasn’t quite sure what to do with all of that. It seemed so foreign. It felt wrong and wonderful all at the same time. How could my thoughts be worth listening to? Was this something God ordained as “okay” or was I “risking my soul” if I chose to speak up? My own self-esteem was not in a place that would allow me to even begin thinking of myself as worthy of having an equal seat at anyone’s table – much less God’s or my husband’s.
It took well over 20 years for me to finally start turning my own thoughts around, and even then, it didn’t happen quickly. It was more like turning the Titanic… It was slow… So slow, in fact, that I couldn’t avoid hitting an iceberg here and there.
My first marriage was the first of those icebergs.
I did finally conclude that that environment was one of abuse which I could no longer tolerate, but there was already so much damage done. Still… there was less damage than if I continued on that course… Despite all the damage endured, it was my first step in healing… It was my first step in recognizing my own value and worth on this planet. It was the first time I realized that I had a purpose, and that purpose was not to be the target of someone else’s lack of self-control or unhealthy drive for “power over”.
Then, along came Bruce.
Bruce was one of the first men in my life to be interested in me as a person – who I was, what I thought, and what I was passionate about. He also recognized where I had been, where I wanted to go, and encouraged me every step of the way. He would laugh with me as I found joy in the simple things that had never been available to me before, and he held me safely in his arms when my world felt scary and ominous. It was wondrously refreshing to be with someone who was simply interested in who I was – not who I thought I was expected to be.
Of course, this, then, resulted in hitting the next iceberg – my faith…
Was it mine? Or was it something that had been handed to me? Something I wasn’t allowed to question… Something I was supposed to accept at face value, even if my own experiences told me something different… screamed something different. What if the God I knew wasn’t the God of my parents? Was that okay?
I have written about this so many times… how I left the church only a few short months before Bruce passed… how I cried for two weeks solid – not sure where to go or what to do next. Then, when Bruce died. I felt completely lost… and with no faith that was mine, I felt like I had nowhere to turn.
However, like any good story, we know that the hero in the story must go through a challenge or battle before they get their “happily ever after” … And my story has been no different. Through the past 11+ years, I have worked hard to reshape my own faith… Making sure that as I de-construct and reconstruct what I believe, I examine it from every angle – verifying that it is what I believe in before moving to the next step.
It has been a long journey, and one that is far from over. Yet, here is what I know so far…
No one else gets to tell me what or who I should be… I alone get to have the last say about who I am. I don’t want to say Bruce would be proud of me for that, because, honestly, that doesn’t matter… That isn’t my goal. However, I do believe he would be happy (maybe even over-joyed) for me that I have finally learned my value and worth in this world and in the eyes of the Divine.
And I thank him for always believing in and encouraging me. He is a gift I will always cherish… I love you, Babe – always and forever!
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Grief changes us. This journey is not an easy path for anyone. That is why I share the mistakes I have made, as well as what I have felt and learned along the way. Even sharing our stories of love and life can be helpful on this journey. We know learning to function on this new path is hard, and it is easy to lose our way or forget that we don’t have to do it alone. I don’t think any of us chose to be here… I know I didn’t. Yet, this is where life has landed us for now… This is where we are. Our lives are now filled with challenges we never imagined and emotions that feel overwhelming at times. So often, I think I have it all figured out, only to find that isn’t true at all. Despite the years since Bruce passed, my life is still filled with challenges, as I am sure yours is too. Learning to take it one day/moment at a time is all any of us can do.
Thankfully, I know I am not alone… None of us are… We have each other. It is our love for those we have lost that brings us together into this space where we can share our experiences. I believe the sharing of our stories is so important… I believe it is healing. Do you have a story to tell? I believe we can find courage and strength in one another’s stories. I believe we can offer each other empathy when we open our hearts to one another. I don’t know about you, but it makes me feel better knowing there are others out there who understand what I mean, and what I feel. It’s nice to know I’m not alone… Maybe this strikes a chord with you too. We would all love to hear your thoughts or your story. If you would like to share your experience or if you need a helping hand or maybe a virtual hug, let us know. We are here for you.
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