trau·ma
/ˈtroumə,ˈtrômə/
noun.
a. a deeply distressing or disturbing experience.
b. physical injury.
Normally, at this time of the year when I write my annual reflection, I share the major events and minor joys of our family life. This year, however, I have a very different story to tell.
I’ve been struggling with this post for a while now, teetering on the edge of positivity, and raw, honest vulnerability. But somehow it just doesn’t feel right to focus only on the best parts, when in all honesty, most of this year has been a deep, dark hole.
Back in January, I wrote a post here detailing my one word goal for 2020. I was excited to start a whole new decade through the lens of celebration. I wanted to take pride in the small wins and cover friends and family in praise when they achieved things.
Funny how that little idea quickly felt implausible in the face of a global pandemic.
I mean, yes, at first I joined the masses who were shouting that the lockdowns were teaching them to slow down and appreciate the little things. In March, I even wrote about the plus side of social distancing and I can’t help but wonder if I had fallen into the trap of toxic positivity.
During the first lockdown, I relaunched my blog in hopes that its new visual appeal, and my dedication to regular postings would attract better readership. With the help of my husband, I created a subscriber form, and an automated email system. I even setup my first giveaway in collaboration with a new author. I was super excited to share my stories, but mostly, as a mama on maternity leave with nowhere to go, I just desperately craved connection.
For most of the summer, and much of the fall, my posts here were minimal. The ones you did see were kept fairly light – sharing pictures of Madilynn’s first birthday and our family Christmas photoshoot. I drafted up several other posts in that time, but I could never get myself to hit ‘publish’ because I either couldn’t get the words right, or the ideas felt more like a grab for readership, than a sharing of my true heart. I even started a post called “2020 Vision,” trying to claim some connection between this year’s disasters and perfect eyesight, as if somehow the trauma was helping me (us) to see the world more clearly. I left that one unfinished because I quickly became annoyed by my own attempts to reframe reality.
In truth, sadness, anxiety, worry and disappointment aren’t inherently “bad,” they are a normal part of human existence. “Bad” things happen to all of us, and we shouldn’t feel the need to cover them up with positive vibes. Most of the time, “it’s going to be okay” just doesn’t cut it.
So, without further ado, here is the scoop on our 2020. The good, the bad, and mostly, the ugly.
Lockdown
As you all know, the world came to a grinding halt back in the spring. While I am so grateful that our jobs were not affected, and our life continued in much the same way, there was also much to be missed. Programs at the local library shut down and I lost the opportunity to connect with other moms; our daughter’s first Easter was celebrated without family; our fifth anniversary trip to Barbados was cancelled; and our anxieties about health and safety were through the roof.
To those of you who welcomed a baby this year, I am so aware of the hardships you’ve faced and I’m sending you so much love. It takes a village to raise a child, and we really missed out on that this year. I truly feel robbed of the maternity leave that I had envisioned. I mourn the loss of time my family got to spend with my daughter. I worry about the lack of social interaction that she’s been able to have this year. And I know many of you feel the same way.
Trauma
While we were all collectively experiencing the trauma of a global pandemic, I was experiencing my own personal kind.
I’m not here to air our dirty laundry, or throw my husband under the bus in any way. But I feel that this climb over a seemingly insurmountable mountain could offer some hope to others who are struggling. And in case you were worried, I do have Andrew’s full support in sharing this story.
For months, we were on completely different pages when it came to meeting the needs of our household. If you follow me on Instagram, you may remember a little cabin getaway for our anniversary in July. It was our first night alone since Madilynn was born, and truthfully, a very desperate attempt to reconnect. I wrote about the importance of making time for each other because I wanted the effort to be visible. We had hard conversations by the fire that night, and we left feeling somewhat more understood by the other. But I truly didn’t know how to express our brokenness at the time.
It’s a tricky thing to be vulnerable, to give your whole heart to someone. You know that they have the power to hurt you, but you’re trusting them not to do so. In marriage, or any kind of close personal relationship really, you learn more than just the beautiful parts of your partner. You learn what makes them tick – their little triggers, if you will – and the trick to success is choosing not to pull them. But we didn’t quite get that right this year.
Things got very heated, and let’s just say, parenthood in a pandemic was the perfect storm to churn the seas and bring unresolved conflict to the surface.
Separation
Unbeknownst to most, we had reached a breaking point in our marriage, and for the majority of the summer, Andrew and I lived apart.
This likely won’t make any sense to some of you, and that is completely fair, given that I am not willing to share all of the details. However, if you know me, I trust that you will believe me when I say we did not make this decision lightly. It was in the best interest of all involved, even if it was the most painful process we’ve ever experienced as a couple.
You see, Andrew and I both had (and continue to have) mental health struggles that we had not previously recognized as resulting from past trauma. To me, the term trauma was reserved for those that had been severely abused, neglected or perhaps witnessed life-altering events. It is only through my recent work in therapy that I’ve been learning to accept my experiences as traumatic for me, and end the practice of explaining away my hardships. More on that later.
These long, lonely months of separation pushed us to ask the hard questions and put in the hard work to heal. We were forced, in a way, to dig into our pain in order to move forward. You don’t grow when you’re comfortable, so we trudge on through the heartache, rather than around it.
According to a selection of studies, years 4 through 7 are the hardest years of marriage. It also happens to be the time when many couples decide to throw kids into the mix. During this period, the children are still small and demand a lot of care. This is very hard to combine with work, housekeeping, and other everyday problems. Not to mention, a GLOBAL PANDEMIC. Then, there’s “the wall” when family life becomes routine. There may be financial issues, childcare issues, and quarrels about sharing household responsibilities. All of that to say, it’s a very complicated time and I guess we’ll be climbing this mountain for a little while longer.
Marriage is hard. I knew it would be. But I certainly never expected this to be part of our story. And even as I write this, I have these nagging thoughts telling me not to be so dramatic… reminding me that other people have experienced much worse… flashing images of other traumas that I’ve read about this year … urging me to keep my own pain inside. If I complain, then I’m ungrateful; unhappy, then I’m unfaithful.
Which brings us perfectly to the next section…
Faith
Somewhere along the line, my faith dwindled away to almost nothing this year. And I’m terrified to put that into words for all of you to read. It feels like another gigantic label of failure has been placed on my forehead.
I can already hear the comments… Pray harder, they say. Read your bible, they say.
“God doesn’t give you more than you can handle.” || “He never promised this life would be easy.”
And the best one…
“You can’t let the actions of imperfect people turn you away from a perfect God.”
I could truly write a whole series of blog posts on my exploration of faith, but I’m just not ready to do that yet. So what I will say is this… Because of circumstances beyond my control, I was robbed of the opportunity to ask the hard questions as a teen. I was taught to sit quietly, to answer “How are you?” with “I’m fine, thanks.” and to offer all the “right” answers. And just to be clear, none of that came from my own family.
Throughout my life in christianity, here’s some of what I’ve personally experienced in the church:
- unwelcome greetings to newcomers;
- judgment for attending a different denomination;
- inappropriate comments about my weight;
- exclusion based on financial strain;
- lack of appreciation for service well done; and
- a general unwillingness to change.
Maybe you grew up in church, maybe you didn’t. Maybe you’ve been hurt by Christians, maybe you haven’t. Either way, I think we can all relate to the human desire for community. To find a place that feels like home, a place that welcomes you with open arms, a place where you belong. If you can find a group of people that surround you with love in all circumstances, then you’ve struck gold.
This is what I wanted the church to be for me, and somewhere it got lost in translation. I don’t exactly know where I’m going from here, but I do want to say that I’m sorry, if like me, you’ve ever felt that this kind of community doesn’t exist for you. Let’s keep searching for it.
Friendship
When you’re experiencing hardship, it is interesting to see what happens to all of the other relationships in your life. Those that you would expect to be there for you, might not be at all; and those who you never expected to come alongside you are suddenly your greatest cheerleaders. I am thankful for them.
The family and friends who stand with you through the fire, offering tender words of encouragement are far better than those who take your shattered heart and throw it deeper into a tailspin. Thankfully, I developed friendships with strong women who shared pieces of their own broken hearts with me. With tears in our eyes, we asked each other the hard questions and considered alternate perspectives. We offered listening ears, a safe space to share, and the best advice we could muster.
Therapy
In August, I made an appointment with a therapist who had been recommended to me by a friend. Before our first session, she called me up to discuss my needs and see if her skills were the right fit for me. Within a few minutes, I was in tears as I shared the heartache that I had been walking through, mostly alone, over the past several months.
Since then, we have had many long conversations, dived deep into my life experiences, and explored simple techniques to help me cope with my anxieties. It is obviously a very personal journey, and not one that I will be divulging in full detail here, but these are some highlights…
First, I am learning to challenge the labels I’ve absorbed about myself in life. In school, other kids would ask me for help with their schoolwork, but leave me behind on the schoolyard. Even some teachers would celebrate my academics, while shaming me for poor athleticism. This was a huge blow to my self-esteem in middle school, causing me to feel ugly and unworthy of true friendship. Then, as a young adult, I was told that I was too sensitive and too complicated to be loved, and I let that idea sink deep into my soul.
These are the reasons that I worry so much about saying the right things to people, the reasons that I completely fall apart when my efforts in friendship are not reciprocated, the reasons I felt so unloved in our marriage this year – and also the reasons why I am so passionate about supporting the social and emotional wellbeing of my students. I need others to know that they are worthy of love, but I’m still learning that that applies to me, too.
Second, it seems so simple, but I’ve been learning to reframe my feelings with the help of one little word: and. You can be both happy and sad at the same time. You can feel gratitude and frustration in your relationships, and all of it is “good.” Seemingly contradictory emotions are allowed to coexist. We don’t have to explain away our “bad” feelings, and we certainly don’t have to justify them to anyone.
Third, my faith is a personal journey worthy of exploration. We all have doubts along the way – that’s part of what makes us human – and we shouldn’t be afraid to share them. For far too long, I have let my fears dictate my relationship with God, and I’m walking into 2021 with the hope that I can rediscover the true meaning of His love for me.
Last, my therapist has allowed me to acknowledge the strengths of my character. Whether by nature or by nurture, I am an excellent observer. I absorb my surroundings and process my thoughts over time. If and when I share my ideas, they have to be carefully considered from all angles. I have felt shame in the past for being “the quiet one,” or needing extra time to formulate a response, but I am learning now that there is value in introspection. It’s exactly why I find writing here to be so therapeutic, and she has encouraged me to continue to share my feelings through writing, both privately and publicly.
I’m not sure if this story has a greater purpose, or even why I feel the need to be so open about it. But I do know that writing it here has brought me some much needed clarity. I’ve been working to unlearn a lot of unhealthy thought patterns this year, and I know it’s just the beginning. I promise to keep sharing my heart, and if you’re somewhere on this journey too, I’d love to hold your hand along the way (even through a global pandemic).
Here’s to 2021 – another year of continual growth, no matter what the world throws at us!