This Sh** Hurts: Feeling Grateful For The Hard Stuff

Rifling through some old photographs from early in my first marriage, when my daughter was brand new and the world of parenting still a mysterious thing, I came across a picture of the three of us.

There we were: Myself, my ex-husband, and our big-eyed, chubby-cheeked little girl, each of us suspended in time in black-and-white, our baby with a grin as big as her eyes, my ex and I with firmly plastered smiles that look as if they’re painted on by someone who isn’t quite sure what a genuine smile is supposed to look like.

While I’d set other pictures quickly set aside, this one I paused over as a slew of emotions hit me, one after the other in rapid-fire succession, none of them fully landing but each more assaultive than the last.

Pain. Sadness. Anger. Wistfulness. Remorse.

There was no joy to be found in the photo – not in the forced appearance of gaiety on my ex’s face and mine, not in the set of our shoulders, and certainly not in the memory of that day. No delight – not in each other, anyway. In the exquisite little bundle we held, absolutely. But there was no love for each other to be found in that frozen moment in time.

The Bitter Past

Reminiscing on how I had chosen to bring a child into the world within a relationship that was so immature, so dismissive of everything a child ought to have by right – a secure and loving home led by someone (or more than one someone) who had their shit together, who could provide stableness, boundaries, and most of all, unyielding, uncompromising love – I felt guilt. It lay heavy on my heart and filled the space around me with the ferocity of its denunciation of my choice. 

We never reached it, that real, authentic love. We never felt it for ourselves, and therefore could never have provided it for our daughter. Not together, anyway.

And I don’t mean I didn’t love her: That love came swiftly and unannounced, piercing my heart in a way I never could have predicted, and it’s never wavered or faltered once since the moment I found out I carried that precious soul within my body. 

But looking at that photo, allowing all the memories and feelings associated with it back into my consciousness, I realized how selfish I, and he, had been; how clueless, how young, and how this treasured being, my daughter (and later, my son) had deserved so much more than what I’d literally birthed them into:

A somewhat chaotic existence led by two people who had no clue how to love, what that ultimate act of freedom really meant – let alone how to act from that place and provide the nurturing and care to our children and to one another that each one of us inherently deserved.

The Point of Choosing

How we’ve all survived is a miracle. By the grace of God, and whatnot. It’s difficult for me to say I don’t have any regrets, because of course I do. I regret having stayed in that relationship as long as I did when it brought nothing but unhappiness to both of us, and those around us, for so long. 

However…

Had I not chosen to enter that relationship with that particular man and gone through what I went through with him…had we not, in fact, chosen to birth our two children into the world and stayed together too long, could I have learned the things I learned, felt the things I felt, and ultimately been led to the path I’m currently walking?

Is there any other way I could have learned how to truly feel free because I knew exactly how it felt to be chained?

Is there any other way I could have learned how to truly love unconditionally had I not first learned what it felt like to both give and receive ultimatums, threats, and manipulations?

Could I have ever learned the healing power of genuine forgiveness had I not first experienced the pain of betrayal and allowed it to turn me bitter and poisonous?

Would I have ever discovered the unending depths of grit, determination, and independence I carry within myself had I not had every single comforting delusion ripped away from me in one shocking and sudden act? 

Could I have ever learned how to swim in the waters of joy, delight, innocence, and abundance had I not first dove headfirst into the shallows of pain, suffering, anger, and depression?

How can we know what one sensation feels like to live from if we haven’t yet fully experienced its opposite?

The trick, of course, is to be willing to give up that experience once we realize it’s no longer serving us, or serving someone we claim to love.

Gratitude for Every. Single. Moment.

Does wallowing in guilt or feeling regret from my past help me, my children, or my ex-husband become the best versions of ourselves today? Does me harboring anger and resentment for what has come to pass free me to fulfill higher purposes and live in joy and freedom?

I already know the answer. I know it in a way that has nothing to do with intellectualization but everything to do with what lies within:

I cannot live in the present or prepare my heart and soul for my future if I succumb to feeling guilty, regretful, or angry about my past.

All I can do – all I want to do – is feel genuine gratitude for every single moment that has helped me arrive to exactly this spot, sitting in my comfortable bed in a lovely old home in the Pacific Northwest, surrounded by human beings (and one neurotic dog) who love me and whom I love in ways that have nothing to do with ultimatums or manipulations but everything to do with freedom and autonomy.

So I can re-look at that picture of the three of us – myself as a too-young, naïve girl; my daughter who still carries the remnants of that innocent, chubby-cheeked baby; and my ex-husband, who helped bring this precious life into existence – and I can breathe, give thanks for all that has occurred, and choose to send love and light to every face looking back at me from that photo.

To myself, most of all. Because if I don’t forgive myself, I have no chance of forgiving anyone else. And until I forgive myself (and everyone else), I can’t be truly free.

I choose freedom.

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