Not So Disappointing, a Retrospective

I sat down this weekend to write about our daughter’s wedding — to describe the setting, the food, and the ceremony, but what I ended up writing about is a personal miracle — one that no one else could see, one that caught me by surprise.

Over the nine (yes, NINE!) years that I have been writing this blog, I have been healing. At first, the healing I was looking for was physical; I didn’t know nine years ago that I also needed emotional healing. It seems ridiculous to me now that my frayed emotional health wasn’t yet obvious to me and that I didn’t yet understand the connection between my emotional and physical wellness.

Both physical and emotional healing have come over time and sometimes in waves. I’ve changed so much about my daily life — what I eat, how I move, where I get support, and who is on my team — but it seems that one of the most critical elements in my healing has been this writing — particularly my commitment to being brutally honest and admitting that I am broken.

It has been a hard but fruitful work — over the last nine years, we have seen not only improvements in my physical and mental health but also, perhaps consequentially, restoration in many relationships.

You might think that in nine years I would’ve worked through everything — every childhood hurt, every adult regret –but then, a major life event brings some old business to the surface. This happened in the lead up to our daughter’s wedding — several old hurts surfaced and a few new blows almost brought me to my knees.

Just a couple months ago, I wondered if the blows, being so recent, would render me incapable of fully enjoying the celebration. I was doubled over emotionally, protecting my vital organs. How could I struggle to my feet and gather the strength to host family in our home? How would I be able to simultaneously attend to my wounds, attend to the countless details of hosting, and also enjoy time with the people I love? It seemed very unlikely that I would be able to be present and observe the little (and big) miracles of the occasion.

I wasn’t expecting what happened.

In those doubled-over months, through some intensive therapy and some encouragement toward bravery, I found a new way. At first, it was just speaking the disappointment, actually saying “That is disappointing,” to people I had never said that to before. Just uttering those words felt liberating, but it wasn’t enough. If I truly wanted to move forward in a different way, I also had to identify what I needed from a few of my key relationships (not as easy as it sounds) and then make my expectations and needs very clearly known.

This was entirely new territory.

It seems that with a few key people in my life, and maybe more than a few key people, I have been so focused on not upsetting or disappointing the others that I have routinely and habitually swallowed my own disappointments, hurts, and desires. Not only was this pattern potentially harmful for my emotional and physical health, I also had to admit that it had severely limited the connections in those relationships.

I know, I know. I’m speaking in vagaries again, and you need me to put some flesh on it. Let me give one example.

Imagine a seven year old girl getting tucked in by her dad at night. He sits on the edge of her twin bed, letting her know that he is going away for business. He says it won’t be long before he buys a home in that other state and moves her, her siblings, and her mom to be with him. She beams with excitement. She loves her dad, and when he has a plan, it always works out good.

But, as devastations go, this is a big one. The family falls apart. The dad moves to the other state, and the rest of the family stays put and begins a different kind of reality that isn’t always great. But that little girl, whenever she talks to her dad — on the phone or in person — stays frozen in that seven-year-old desire to be excited, to tell him the good news, to please him, to make him happy. Even when it’s clear that his focus has shifted to a new family, to a new reality that doesn’t include her, she still tries to elbow her way in, to find a space, to stay connected. But she does so on eggshells, not wanting to upset or disappoint in any way.

Here’s the thing though — when you walk on eggshells in relationships, other people never get to hear or recognize the sound of your footsteps. They can’t know the full you if they can’t hear your full voice, but when you are used to using the voice of a seven year old, it isn’t easy to start using the voice of a grown-ass adult, even when you are comfortable doing so in most other areas of your life.

In the weeks leading up to the wedding, this pattern revealed itself in a handful of relationships where I was too afraid of disappointing to use my full voice, to say how I was actually feeling. The only way forward was to step into my adulthood — to voice my disappointments, my desires, and my needs. I took a chance. And once I got started, the liberation was intoxicating. I started showing up as my full self in all of my relationships. This year. Last month. At FIFTY-SEVEN YEARS OLD.

I wasn’t hurtful, or spiteful, or accusatory. I was just honest. This is how I feel actually — how I’ve always felt. And [most of] the people who love me heard me.

“I can see why you would feel that way.”

“You’re right; that happened. I’m sorry.”

More importantly, I heard me. I sounded confident and strong in relationships where I had long been functioning in some ways as a scared little girl.

I wasn’t expecting my spine to straighten. I wasn’t expecting my heart to open wider. I wasn’t expecting my insecurities to start dropping to the floor. And I sure wasn’t expecting to fully enjoy three weeks of house guests lounging in our family room, sitting on our patio, laughing, working through logistical details, cooperating, supporting, and caring for one another.

I wasn’t expecting myself to be so free.

And I sure wasn’t expecting the freedom I felt on the actual wedding day — the freedom to greet dozens of family members, to do the chicken dance and a very pedestrian version of the bachata, to speak Spanish in one sentence and English in the next, to be fine with the ceremony starting over 30 minutes late (“we’re on island time after all!”), to be grateful that guests were willing to run out to buy more ice, to manage minor disappointments and to celebrate — fully celebrate– all the healing that has happened in our immediate and extended family over the last many years.

Because that is what I saw, friends, I saw once-invisible family members finally get a seat at the table. I saw those who had felt ashamed step into grace. I saw once-strangers embracing, dancing, laughing. Even for a girl with an insufferable belief in restoration, this day was breathtaking.

It wasn’t perfect, because life is not perfect, and I didn’t try to take ownership of the imperfections. I didn’t try to fix them. I observed them for what they are and then went back to embracing, dancing, and laughing.

I celebrated the fact that God had used the pain of the last several months to free me, to restore me, to allow me to see and enjoy all He has restored.

Guys, the wedding was great. It was beautiful. It was a stage to display the miraculous. And I am so, so thankful.

And He who sits on the throne said, ‘Behold I am making all things new’.”

Revelation 21:5