I am not one to sit quietly and wait for things to happen.
This shouldn’t be a surprise to you, dear reader – you’ve seen my ranting and raving and calls for action rather than stagnation over the years. You (should) know how I get when something gets under my skin and, lately, everything’s been getting under and rubbing me raw. Some of this is because life is overwhelming and I’ve just not had the luxury to sit down and objectively examine anything…but some of it is because it’s easier
for me to get angry and fly off the handle than to allow myself to just BE sad.
I happily feed off anger; it warms me and propels me to keep going and so I embrace it to function. It’s a coping mechanism (not a healthy one) and my excuses about not having time to embrace the sad are beginning to wear thin even to me. As I’ve said, I hate waiting for things to happen and so I’m going to have to allow myself the time to mourn all of the things I’ve lost since November of last year, even though I’m terrified to do it.
It’s easier to fall apart once the ground settles under my feet. I remember my son splitting his chin to the bone as a toddler, and driving him to the Emergency Room while also applying direct pressure to his chin, and soothing him while we waited, and holding him while they stitched him up. Four hours later, we were home, and he was in bed, and I collapsed on the floor weeping, and wailing, and gnashing my teeth. This type of delayed reaction is normal in situations between parent and child – the parent remains calm so as not to further upset the child and doesn’t break down until after the crisis is long over. The same thing happened when my son broke his leg in two places as an adolescent – I stayed calm and collected for him until he was taken in to surgery and then I fell apart. My ability to do this isn’t limited to situations with children, though – I will bottle up my despair and frustration and sadness over my world collapsing until it is put back together.
To give you an idea of the pending storm, let me say this: I lost a job in mid-November and didn’t get another one until this week (May 5th). While I was out of work, I worked in my parents’ business for $15/hour for a maximum of 20 hours a week (all they could afford). My son is in college, and while he has financial aid and a job, he needed my help to pay his bills. My husband and I had to scrimp and pinch, earning whatever we could however we could, trying to pay the mortgage, and utilities, and a car payment, and support our son, two cats, and ourselves. We borrowed money from my parents and from my in-laws, and schemed and pleaded with everyone to get extra time to pay the bills…and I got my current job just as we were about to miss a mortgage payment. Now that I am working full-time at one job (and have a second job teaching swimming lessons), we’re still not out of the woods – my first paycheck won’t come until the 22nd of the month and it is already spoken for.
So, why am I writing about this for a Pagan Blog Project post? Well, I am a great espouser of religion not being limited to a delineated space and time – everything we do can be made into a religious act. The key word in that statement, though, is act. To practice the religion of the everyday we must act with intent and purpose and the smallest things become devotional. Locking my computer every time I walk away from it, as is company policy, can be devotional because adhering to company policies promotes community within the workplace and promotion of community is ma’at. Putting confidential documents in the shred bins is shopping cart theology in another environment. And, taking the time I need to mourn the losses I had nurtures my Dark Flame – it brings me back to myself and lets me concentrate on working through what and how I feel.
Hyperbolic Me needs to fall apart once in a while in order to truly inhabit myself. Why not recognize it for the religious act it is?