It Gets Better

There is a sprinkler going outside my window and the air already feels like a summer afternoon even though it's 6AM. I've just shared more information than is probably wise with the internet, and I feel mildly anxious, but mostly relieved.

Shame is a boot heel, crushing the air out of life. I have a bad habit of hiding from things I feel ashamed of-- or worse, hiding with them. I guard my mess like a dragon on is hoard, terrified that if I leave it, Someone Might See. I've been becoming aware lately of just how strong a force shame is in my life.

The thing about shame, though, is that it won't bear being looked in the face. Like Medusa, all it takes is to show shame its own reflection. Once you stop running and hiding from a thing, it's no longer a monster; now it's just an adversary.

Is that too many metaphors? I get very metaphorical when I'm exhausted.

I used to think pride was the opposite of shame, but I don't anymore. Now I think the opposite of shame is joy. Pure, unabashed joy. Pride goeth before a fall, but joy cometh in the morning. Pride is just shame in hubris' clothing-- shame you bury under a mountain of self-praise until you feel confident that it can never escape. Joy, on the other hand-- unapologetic joy-- radiates out and fills every dark corner with light.

I'm feeling true joy lately, for the first time in a while. I feel it when my toddler says, "No, Leelee! No funny!" when Lily does something that she doesn't like. I feel it when my 10-month-old screeches and bounces and nearly collapses with glee at the sight of her daddy. I feel it when my mom shows me her plants and tells me the story of how each one is doing this year. "And this peony was really struggling in that corner, I think it was getting too much shade. So I dug it up and put it over here and look at all the flowers! It's much happier now."

I spent some time in a dark hole and for a while, I couldn't see a way out. I was waiting for someone to toss me a rope. Instead, the rain came. I didn't notice at the time, but while the rain was soaking my hair and filling my sneakers, it was also filling up the hole, buoying me up, and carrying me to the top.

Like I said, I get metaphorical when I'm tired.

I'm so grateful for my life. I'm grateful for the chance I have to make good choices, to make positive changes, to seek help. I'm so grateful for the help I have.

Every time I'm upset, Mike tells me it's going to be ok. "I got this," he says, and I always want to believe him. I always want to believe that he has some secret plan to make things better, but I know he doesn't. His plan to make things better is to make me feel like things are better, because sometimes our biggest problem is just my despair. And if that doesn't work, he brings me ice cream.

How could anyone not be in love with a guy like that?

When you're young, you think life is going to be an adventure. You think you'll do everything better than the flawed and struggling adults around you. You think you'll avoid making mistakes. But when you grow up, you realize that the mistakes and the struggles are the adventure.

When you're young, you think you won't be up all night pouring your soul out to a vast and indifferent internet. If you're me, you're wrong.

They say when you stare into the void, the void stares back, but what about when you scream into it? If it echoes, was it ever really a void?

I think I'm half-asleep as I write this. I think I'm probably wildly misguided to think I'll get some kind of closure from exposing my pale underbelly directly to the collective Id of humanity. I think I need to get more sleep, more exercise, and more fiber.

I think things are going to keep getting better.

I really do.