It occurs to me, not for the first time, that my default to depression, anxiety, and worrywart overwhelm is exhausting. But it's sort of what I've come to expect. Any respite into actual happiness seemed transitory. Most could not tell this about me and have expressed surprise when I'd talk about it. I've spent 68 years putting on a happy public face even when I was anything but happy. And no, I'm not constantly in a state of mental health crisis of epic proportions, but I've lived with the low-level hum of worry and pessimism playing in the background on and off most of my life.
This year has been particularly challenging. Right out of the January gate it became clear that Hub and I had not been communicating and connecting as well as we might. Disagreements, frustrations, building resentments, and anger mingled more often than usual with the ease, contentment, and routine of a long, close marriage. On the surface all was well to the casual observer. We appeared to sail along on calm seas -- even we convinced ourselves skies were mostly sunny. Under the surface, however, the nuclear reactors on our separate submarines were about to melt down. Hello August. (aka Hell Month).
No, you don't get to hear the details of our running aground. (Is my metaphor getting lost? Subs don't run aground do they? Let's pretend we are back on the sailboat and find ourselves stranded at low tide.)
Suffice to say, even a relationship of over 50 years (counting dating before marrying), even when the partners are emotionally literate and talk about most everything ad nauseum, even when decades of individual and joint personal growth work have been accomplished, a crisis point can occur when one realizes there is apparently more work to do: more talking, more emoting, more uncovering. There is more to learn about ourselves and each other at this age and stage of life. There is a marriage to tend, with care and compassion. We've been focused on gratefully, intentionally, tending it for the past few months.
So, I find myself unnaturally happy, optimistic, and even joyful, not only about my marriage but also about, well, me. These are not states of being that have come naturally for me. I looked at myself in the mirror a couple of weeks ago and smiled, genuinely loving the person looking back. I think that was a first.
Why the shift? I took some emotional risks in the past several months that never in a million years did I think I could. I learned that anger is warranted at times and does not need to be squelched for the 'greater good' and the world doesn't fall apart when it's expressed. I learned that compassion can live alongside anger and be the balm that calms. I learned that it takes Herculean effort to set clear boundaries and be ready to hold them, along with learning that the strength it takes to choose complete vulnerability can be terrifying and exhilarating.
I learned that both Hub and I are willing to look at our choices and decisions, habits and default behaviors with tenderness, strength, and compassion for ourselves and each other, even when it's most difficult, even when the urge is to retreat in hurt or defensiveness.
I learned that the personal and relationship work we've done in the past has supported and sustained us through this storm. I've learned it's good to ask for help. I've learned, again, that both of us being open, honest, vulnerable, and willing to change is painful and challenging -- and essential to a committed relationship.
I've learned that grace shows up when we open to it, creating a path to re-discovering our essential selves and to recommitting to a marriage that still stands the test of time. I've learned (dare I say it?) to be happy.
This is a very personal post and I hesitate to hit "publish". I actually wrote it in early October, but held back. Thanksgiving seems to be a right time to share it, with deep gratitude for where I/we are today.
My writing, always, is to create connection and to offer "you're not alone" reassurance to others who live a human life of challenge and joy. We're all in this together. Let's hold each other tenderly.
At least, that's the view from here...©
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