messy moments

In the middle of life’s little speed bumps, I usually go right to “shut down” mode. I tend to forget every good thing that ever happened me to me in my whole entire life. I’m the kind of person who grabs ice cream and a big blanket at the first sign of discomfort. Deep down I think that I may actually believe that I’m not going to be able to handle whatever pain I know is coming. I brace myself, ready to fight. It never really occurred to me to put my fists down until very recently.

I can look back on my life and remember many nights sitting on my floor in my ninja turtle Snuggie, waiting for the ground to open up and swallow me whole. I’ve been told that I am a tad bit dramatic, but regardless, I’m sure many of you can relate to my messy moments. And I am a firm believer in the healing properties of pity parties, although mine tend to last a little bit too long. They would go on for months if I let them, and sometimes I do.

When I was little and frustrated, my messy moments consisted of sprawling myself out on the cold kitchen linoleum and crying or just lying there motionless. My mom might have called it a tantrum, but I think it was more than that. The floor was the only thing that felt real to me in moments of child distress, like we had an understanding. I could just lay there with the dust mites and the crusty macaroni under the refrigerator and nothing was expected of me. But the floor wasn’t just where I fell to pieces; it was also the place where I healed. And once again, my childhood has taught me something so valuable. To crumble to the ground and rise up renewed, leaving the pain right there on the floor.

Not to say that is always the easiest thing. I still try to combat all emotions with my own strength before I crumble. I have always wished for a life without pain and maybe I still believe that experiencing pain makes me weak. 

It often seems like it would fix everything if we just didn’t experience suffering, if we never “hit the floor”. But man oh man; if I never had any floor moments I would be a complete shell of a person. All those times I’ve fallen and gotten up again, those moments of complete heartbreak and those moments of pure joy. They go hand in hand; you can’t have one without the other. So while I experience moments of deep pain. I also experience moments of deep, deep joy. And because I feel pain so deeply, I also feel joy in its purest form. I’m learning to be thankful for those bittersweet moments. The ones that come in like a lion and go out like a lamb. The moments when I’m on my knees, not because I’m praying, but because I feel as if I can’t go another step. Those moments of excruciating pain where I find the peace that passes all understanding.