A shadow needs light

Trigger warning: This post addresses National Suicide Prevention month.

For the last few years, I have been quiet in this space, only jumping on to write my annual letters to Reed for his birthday and for his heaven date.  I’ve had plenty more to say but my heart has been through the ringer.  Before I go further, let’s set a few ground rules here. First, I am doing well, and I have reached a space where I feel I can share my heart again. Second, this nor any of my other social media platforms are for bashing other people. Third, similar to the second rule, is that this is not meant as a “grab your popcorn and let’s watch the drama unfold” space.  Fourth, it will always be okay to not be okay.

So here we go.  I saw this post on Instagram the other day.  Thank you, to IG user andrewsparkig for sharing something that resonated so incredibly deeply with my soul, and if we change the past year to the past four years, that about sums up the fire that I have walked through.

But how did we get here?  I think it genuinely was a perfect storm of pandemic and words and actions that brought me to my knees. 

My heart hurts still thinking about each of them, but I now know that they helped shape the me I am today and refined the warrior spirit that continues to drive my heart.  I started writing on the Caringbridge sites for our children, where those typewritten words helped me to calm the swirling sea of fear, shock, sadness, and uncertainty.  In that writing, I found a voice that urged me to go on even in the toughest times.

My quietness has been because the hurts of the past few years have almost swallowed me whole, rendering me at times, speechless.

In those early days of becoming a “writer” naming the aches helped the challenges we faced to feel smaller. Sharing now also releases them because I am certain that watching from the outside, most had no idea of the weight of my burdens for four long years. It’s okay, friends. It’s genuinely okay.  But just know that every day, others are facing giants we will never know.   

The things that caused me to falter, to doubt, to question, and to lament ranged from something as small as a text (calling me a pathetic human) to something so ground shaking (my friend taking her life) and all kinds of wounds in between those extremes were heavy for someone with a very tender heart.

Oh, there were others, like pervasive messaging about public-school teachers and worse yet, college professors, being villainous. Hey wait? What?!?! Do you mean me? Please note: if I intended to indoctrinate anyone’s children, my first act would be that they turn in their homework on time and done to completion.  But since in 33 years I failed at that very mission, I think the worry is, at best, misguided.

Another favorite is the attack on science and scientists. Um? Wait? Did you forget that I am scientist first and educator always? For the record, I can love Jesus and science and sleep really well at night, not finding odds at either.

There were more times where my heart simply ached. So much more that at times felt like I was taking body blows for simply existing. Being reminded that you will always be too much for some is a hard lesson to learn. Realizing that the spaces where you thought you belonged no longer felt right was soul-crushing. At times, I pondered my purpose, much like one of my favorite songs, She Used to be Mine, from Waitress.  I gave and gave, until exhaustedly, I realized that they had taken more than I gave them.

I did reach out, but that thing that I have always bristled at – Oh, you are so strong – blinds others to seeing that your requests for help are genuine.  So, the help doesn’t come or worse yet, can be met occasionally with been there, done that – mentalities which in the history of those words strung together has never been helpful.  Sometimes, the world’s givers need to be receivers too.

But . . . light still shone, and that is the whole point of sharing all of this because trust me, I did not want to. God and I have wrestled over this one for a LONG time; hence the really, really long hiatus from writing.  Yet, every time I have a WWE match for the belt, I learn that the sadness, despair, and lamenting I have felt, God plans to use for good. Even the strongest struggle, so, please know you are not alone.  Not ever.

Despite my personal darkness of sad in what felt like my soul’s valley of the shadow of the death, hope was there. Many times, she was a quiet and insistent whisper, barely audible. I noted something yesterday I had never once considered regarding that verse from Psalm 23.

In order for a shadow to form, light must be present even in the darkest spaces.

Light was always there.

Without a doubt, I learned hard lessons in these last four year. I also learned the steadfastness and love of some of those souls closest to my heart, including ones that walked into my life recently.   I learned the value of saying no to things that no longer fit. I learned how to simply walk away and to love from a distance.  Yet, I learned how truly capable I can be, and how to deeply love myself in the midst of sadness and chaos.

Through it all, I never forgot how deeply loved I am by God, even in the moments where it felt people forgot. 

Thank you to those who carried the buckets of water to douse out the flames and to others who were the feathers that carried hope.

You saw me and loved me anyway. You are the real MVPs.

Post-note: While my sadness led to soul searching and lifestyle changes, I still walked alongside my friends and helped in their sadnesses, losses, and betrayals because I was not despondent. I fully recognize that is not the story for others, including my friend, whom I love and miss every day. I will never diminish the importance of mental health. Health is health – period. Hard stop. This baring of my soul and revealing that the “strong” don’t always feel it is for her, for the last few years me, and for anyone who needs some encouragement.  

September is National Suicide Prevention month.

For those who are silently struggling, you are not alone.

You do not have to suffer alone.

It is okay to not be okay, but please, please know we need you here.

My friend was not okay, her brain lied to her, and her passing has left a hole I didn’t know could exist which is saying something because I know and live with the pain of losing a child.

You matter, and we need you.

My heart, my ears, and my arms are always open, and so too is the Suicide Hotline.