Lately, I’ve repeated the phrase,
“Everything’s going to be fine,” more times than I could count--enough times to
elicit an eye roll from a tired coworker--enough times that my friends have
picked up on the “mantra” and started chanting along. Sometimes it takes a
descent into weakness to prove what you’re made of and how strong you are.
Sometimes you need a push to realize that you should be focusing on the
positive.
This summer, when a friend ran into her
ex at a bar and started crying, I put my arm around her to walk her away from
an uncomfortable scene. Only, I accidentally led her out the wrong exit. Trying
to remedy my mistake, I swung my leg over the cast iron railing-- acquiring
something I didn’t even know existed: A vaginal hematoma.
I was emotionally and physically
vulnerable and on bed rest for the next month. My gynecologist assured me that
I was lucky as it could have been life-threatening or rendered me unable to
have children. My biggest issue was that as I suffered, my husband sat idly by--
as close as arms reach, yet as distant as the moon.
He left for vacation while I was on
bed-rest. One of those lone afternoons, I hobbled to the oven to heat up
leftover pizza, while craving Chinese food, and realized that this was an
analogy for my life. I slowly began to acknowledge the ways in which I’d
settled.
He was supposed to be there “in sickness
and in health,” but left for good after a month of staggering emotional
unavailability and ‘conditional love’ statements like, “If you’d had a car
accident or been mugged, then I’d care about your injury.”
I realized a lot through this experience
that I believe will help shape my future relationships and encounters; like
that people do what works for them, whether or not it’s healthy. Or that you
can hope someone will change for the better, but you can’t expect it. You have
to accept who they are in the present moment.
This trauma has forced me to search for
the positive in situations. Instead of wallow in my woebegone existence, I’d
rather experience these growing pains as gracefully as I can, welcoming
situations and feelings as they present themselves. I remember the physical
growing pains from my adolescence with a proud fondness. Hopefully, I’ll look
back on my emotional growing pains in a similar way.
The night he left, I cried as he drove
away. But, I also stared into the bathroom mirror and said firmly, out loud:
“Everything’s going to be fine.” The words would’ve bounced back off of my
reflection and into the drain if I didn’t believe them. But I do.
Now, I believe in silver linings. I
believe that when people tell you who they are, you should listen. I believe
that sometimes it takes a trauma to wake you from subdued slumber. Above all, I
believe everything’s going to be fine.
