I Wish


shafts of lightI wish I could tell you I am always strong, but that would be a lie.  I wish I could say that I never have doubts, or tears, or fear, but that would be untrue.  I wish I could say my heart is whole and healthy, but it’s not.  It has been pummeled more times than I can count.  Crushed beyond what I can bear and it has left me a pile of shattered pieces.  Shards that are painfully deep, like splinters which, if not removed, turn into a festering mess of bitterness and resentment.  My attempts to glue it all back together are woefully inadequate.  Instead of creating art, I cut myself and bleed.  Instead of molding wholeness, I simply keep rearranging the same old pieces into forms which highlight just how broken I am.  Until now my faith has held me together through the unending traumas of life, but this time I am not even sure there is a mustard seed left.  Brokenness is exhausting.  Trying to muster up belief that overshadows the depth of my pain is not possible.

So here is the truth, I am NOT a strong woman.  I am NOT full of faith.  Sometimes I don’t want to pray because it doesn’t seem to do any good.  Sometimes I just want to quit. This is a raw place I am in, but it is also a real place.  A place in which my weaknesses are front and center.  A place where God is silent and I am so very tired.  I know the clichés.  I can quote the scripture, but sometimes sackcloth and ashes is more appropriate.  Sometimes grief and loss are companions that will not let me go.  They sing me to sleep, only to wake me in the night.  They whisper to me what could have been, and abandonment chimes in to remind me that whatever I do, I do it alone.  The weight of such thoughts banishes sleep and pumps my heart in crazy rhythms.  My palms sweat and my breathing becomes shallow.  I find myself back where I have always been, holding on for dear life.  It is not pretty.  I am not holding it together very well.  I am searching for my secret place to no avail.  I am lost to it, groping in the dark, trying to find peace that eludes me.  Dare I pen such a place?  Dare I speak it aloud? Should I put it on paper? It is easier to pretend all is well and all will be well.  It is easier to say what I want to hear, that everything will be fine.  It will all somehow work out like it always does.  But underneath those pretentious thoughts I wonder if it is true.  Will it ever be true?

Hard places.  Deep waters.  Struggling to breathe.  Just to breathe.  Sinking beneath the waves.  I cannot even cry out.  I am silent with my tears…which are the only prayers I have at the moment.  No words.  Pressure that has been my companion for years rises in my throat and sits on my shoulders. This is my lament.  It is my burden.  I know the sun will come up eventually.   I have lived long enough to know it is true. Light always follows darkness.  I simply have to hold on until it does, but this time I am not holding on…I am letting go.

11 thoughts on “I Wish

  1. You wrote the words, but it feels like they’re mine. I live in the same space as your words. Not always. But now. I too am waiting for the light after my darkness.

  2. We will walk on the beach soon and soak in the presence of the Lord in all his majesty and grace. He will walk with you and fill you with peace. Be still and know. He is in this with you and is counseling you even in the quiet. Love you so much. There is no time past, present, or future with God and in His timeless ways he will hold you…he is holding you!!!

  3. I too am letting go. Letting go of a false sense of control. Letting go of how I imagined the outcome to be. Letting go of my need to have more of him. Letting go of the idea of that my cracks will heal.

    I’m embracing Faith. Even when I have to force myself to embrace it. I’m embracing that my fight will produce half the outcome I desire, but twice the amount if not fighting. I’m embracing patience. I’m embracing the understanding of how deep love goes and how it does not fade.

    Your words resonate in my soul. Thank you.

  4. I wrote a bunch of words as a reply… but deleted and deleted them. They are not sufficient to express my deep appreciation for your raw transparency. This is the real deal … and beyond beautiful. Shalom precious soul. 💟

  5. I too feel this way pretty much every day. Its a struggle that is all consuming. My body is tired, my soul is too. I love my husband and so happy he is still here but he’s not. Seems like each day he gets a little worse then maybe a day or two of semi good followed right back to worse again. I feel I am fighting an invisible dragon that is slowly burning me out. Your words in this blog of “I Wish” is so me. I am sorry you are here too. We are going on 9 years the end of July, but I keep on pushing on. Don’t know how long I can hang on but am going to try. Crying helps for a short time but then something catches my eye. A memory of the days long gone, where we would hike and do things together. I see others enjoying their life and the little green eyed monster appears inside me and I feel so jealous and cheated. Thank you for sharing

    • Oh Barb. You are amazingly brave. That invisible dragon is real and you have the sword…but it is hard to wield it when you are so tired. I think right now it is the loss of all that could have been that is causing my sorrow. There are times when hardship brings it all to the surface and it is heavy. I think the silence of the TBI life is the toughest part. I mean, what is there to say? No one gets it and it is hard to explain…unless you have lived it. Complaining does no good, but sometimes the reality demands to be heard…at least for a moment. Journaling/blogging helps me on those days…even if I never publish. Hang in there friend. Thank you for reading…I hope to write a book at some point that tells the story of both the caregiver and the victim. (Bill is helping me with that part.) 🙂

  6. Pingback: Faith vs. Surrender | Michelle's Mosaic

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