As I sit and reflect upon the struggles I’ve muddled through, the mountains I have climbed, the trauma I’ve endured, and all that I have to be grateful for I cannot help but wonder why what seemed to be the toughest of times was also my most joyful and strongest of times.
The year was 2017. It was 9 pm on the birthday of my dead ex-husband, almost a year after a brutal divorce from husband #2, and my mother had just kicked me and my 5 and 6 year old sons out of her house for telling her “no”. I was finally getting back on my feet emotionally and working towards getting back on my feet physically. I no longer needed her as much as I did the year before, and refused to be treated like the teenager she was talking to and expecting to bow down with blind obedience and respect.
My standing up for myself just landed us (my boys and I) in the streets. A smack in the face, reminding me that I didn’t matter, and advocating for myself only brought me harm. I did my best to put on a brave face for my boys, but I was devastated and feeling hopeless on the inside. We managed to bunk with family that night, and found our way to the women’s shelter the next day.
I now had only 90 days of “safe” space to figure out some sort of home situation. We were ok monetarily; thanks to the SSI we were receiving from the death of the boys’ father, but I still wasn’t able to work, and my only other income was from the school loan checks I received. They were helpful, but also building a mountain of debt. So, jobless, homeless, working on a degree, homeschooling a 5 and 6 year old, and fighting the shelter on how I planned on moving forward, I was feeling even more hopeless than 2 nights ago.
However, something uncanny was happening. I was balling my eyes out every night in the bathtub, crying out to god for help not knowing how or what to do. But every morning I was capable of maintaining a positive, sometimes joyful’ attitude and was making real progress down a path I didn’t think was possible at the time but knew I needed to take. I thought owning a home was a dream far out of reach, especially in my current condition, but I knew renting was not in my meager budget and things simply kept working out in my favor. There was still trouble to navigate through every single day and every night I would be sobbing and crying out for help as I had used all of my strength to get through the day.
But that is what gets me wondering. What if the joy and capableness I felt during the day was because of my releasing emotions and requesting help every night? Is that was meant by “sorrow may be for a night, but joy cometh in the morning” (Psalm 30:5)? Is that what would happen if we let out the struggles of each day before crawling into bed? And if dealt with on a daily basis, would we have the melt downs, the blow ups, and buried emotions that get stuck in the body? If so, why didn’t it happen this way when I was seeking during other struggles? And how does one ensure that this act of release and request doesn’t turn into rumination of problems? That our focus is not on some sky daddy we hope will save us after he has punished us, but on the inner god, our inner savior who guides us through the lessons of life as all works together for our greatest good?